Military Admits Aliens Are Real, Nobody Cared.

On April 27th, 2020: US Military Admits UFO's ARE Real

This was the front page of the news cycle for all of one day. For decades upon decades people who have dedicated their lives to the disclosure movement and bringing truth to power, had the "I told you so," moment.

Amid the 24 Hour News Coverage of PANICdemic, the sleepy consciousness of average Americans overlooked the biggest reveal ever in the history of the United States, "UFO's Are Real, US Military Confirms in Press Briefing at the US Pentagon."

Crickets.

Like a kid on Christmas, I wanted to grab anyone who would come within 6 feet of me and pop open a bottle of champagne and pass around the DYI tin foil hat crafting kit to celebrate.

Since social distancing is a thing now, I couldn't do that, but figured that there would be many online parties to attend for this breaking admission by the top brass in the US Intelligence sectors as well as the US Military.  

I watched Linda Moulton Howe (Award-Winning Author and Investigative Journalist) host a live stream and the only thing anyone was wanting to discuss was COVID 19.  As she held her beautifully fat and derpy Himalayan Cats named "Fluffy and Chocolate," I watched her giant glamorous grin fade out as she realized that everyone just kind of brushed that under the rug.

Being absolutely analytical about everything, I began to dive head first down the psychological rabbit hole of HOW it could be possible that NOBODY was talking about the long awaited OFFICIAL disclosure of UFO's and the presence of Extra Terrestrials in our airspace.

Truly, I boiled it down to 3 things that could have caused this unbelievable silence on such a massive move toward truth and vindication of so many who have been screaming for decades about what they know regarding the ET cover-up...

#1. Everyone already believes, and just gave up on ever hearing "yes you are right," from the government.

#2. There's such mistrust of government that everyone views anything that comes out with the "Boy that cried wolf," filter on.

#3 People are a lot dumber than I thought and really do like the comfort and security of being controlled by their overlords who are telling them they are all going to die or kill their neighbor if their small business opens, or if they go to a trail in the middle of nowhere to exercise and didn't bring a mask... or the hundreds of other illogical restrictions that are put in place that make them feel like fucking first responders or heroes.... when really they like being victims.  Who cares about confirmation that we aren't alone in the universe when you are told everything will kill you!

I don't know, but I do know that I reached a level of apathy that I didn't know I was capable of feeling upon realizing how people would rather focus on the fear they have over a "pandemic" than shifting focus for just a moment and asking themselves, "wait a minute... so... wait... You mean to tell me that all those crazy friends I have that have been telling me about UFO cover-ups were right this whole time? What else are they right about?"

Fact is- Those of us who unplugged from the matrix a long time ago, did so because of one event that didn't seem to add up to what we either experienced first hand or deduced based on evidential research.

For some unplugged people that event was 9/11, others it was seeing Bigfoot on a camping trip, or having paranormal experiences their entire life ranging from UFO's to apparitions... And for the old timers it was the assassination of JFK or Roswell. Some people unplugged from the matrix because of NDE (Near Death Experience) or an encounter with a Guardian Angel that saved their life...
Some people are even unplugging in the most basic way due to the lies from Corporate Media or Big Pharma..
One thing becomes a cognitive dissonance catalyst and the next thing you know, you have decided to "dig through Grammy's scary spider webbed trunk in the basement."  Oh the things you will find in there! So many secrets you wish you never knew but are grateful you found out even if it means you like Grammy a little less.

The ancient and often repeated knowledge of, "the truth will set you free," is the most true statement ever written down. Being free is not related to the "ignorance is bliss," thing either. When you are FREE, you have unplugged from the framework that by design has limited your vision of what is, what could be, and what might be.

Anyway...
However you "got there" with regard to unplugging from the illusionary framework matters very little. Fact is- You're there. Now what are you going to do about it?

Well... A lot of people have gone against tremendous forces of suppression and unfair ridicule to bring YOU the truth. If you dare to venture out on the plank of being a truth teller, you will definitely need to harness yourself to the outstretched narrow board that is perched over shark infested waters.
You can go back to the ship and get beaten to death and put on kitchen duty, or you can live on the plank and hope to God that you don't get pushed off into the ravenous shark pool below.

There are so many people who have set up camp on the "plank" and some that were torn to shreds by the sharks below.  William Cooper, who wrote the infamous, "Behold A Pale Horse," was one of those people who was knocked into the shark tank. If he were alive he would be saying, "I warned all of you about every single thing that has happened in the last 20 years and nobody listened?"
Note about Bill Cooper: Bill Cooper held Q Level Clearance. For those who don't know, Q Clearance is FAR above Top Secret and several degrees higher than the office of President of the United States.
Someone of that magnitude coming forward and spilling the veritable beans about the power plays within the global elite secret society run special interest groups and the Military Industrial Complex, sealed his fate upon the first public appearance he gave on mainstream media outlets like CNN.

People were willing to listen to him regarding the JFK insider knowledge he had or the false flag events in Vietnam, but when it came to the knowledge he had on the ET presence... he fell victim to the disinformation agents who were literally tasked to silence him at all costs. *See Richard C. Doty for full testimony on how the Disinformation Agents were utilized. He was one and has since come clean publicly.*

So there I sat on April 27th...Waiting for someone, anyone, to talk about the HUGE NEWS of the US Military and Pentagon admitting that "UFO's ARE REAL," and the only thing I saw on Facebook and Twitter was, "if you want the businesses to reopen you are a murderer!" Or "Orange Man Bad." Or "Trump could have saved us but instead we are dying."   Or "Numbers are growing and where are the tests we were promised."  

All of the above statements, all of them, are part of the NEW disinformation campaigns that are exclusively designed to keep all of us divided, ignorant, uninformed, confused, and living in a new matrix upside-down mirror world funhouse of fear.

I could rattle off a million facts right now that completely disprove all of the horseshit that the media and certain factions of the government and corporations are pushing, but it wouldn't matter because most of the people choose to believe what frightens them most. To people like me who have unplugged from the matrix, that is the definition of insanity. You keep believing something that is not serving the best interest of your forward conscious growth and expect everyone else to be in lockstep with you or else they are complacent and worse.. complicit.

I've come to realize, much like Bill Cooper did before his untimely "death" or murder, that most people prefer to stay ignorant, prefer to only read or research their own confirmation biases, and tradition and culture seem to dictate how someone will vote, and what church they will attend, who they will marry, and what they will accept as being reality.

So... those of us who have been thought of as "conspiracy theorists" (a term coined by the CIA for the specific purpose of bullying people into silence via public shaming) will have to learn something pretty depressing. That being summed up by a quote that my brother said regarding "working really hard" while he was employed with a touring show (as was I) called "Ringling Bros. & Barnum and Bailey Circus."   The quote is this:

"Yeah, well... working hard in the circus is like peeing in your black work pants. Only you get that warm feeling." -Darren Lenz 

So all of us that had to crack open the champagne ALONE after finally being vindicated for our hard research into the UFO cover-up, we had to learn that only we have that warm feeling. What most do not realize who are lurking in the shadows and trying to understand people like me who seemingly make outrageous claims that go against everything the media and government has force fed the public with, is this....

We become obsessed in researching and truth seeking because of YOU! We want to share the WARM FEELING with everyone in the world! That is the truth.

Sure it's cool to know that the US Military finally publicly admitted the UFO cover up and the fact that they are indeed REAL, but what does it matter when nobody cares but those of us who didn't need that confirmation in the first place, but felt it was mighty nice to have it after decades of researchers risked their reputation including military officials and pilots losing their credibility and jobs, people literally murdered for speaking truth to power, etc... What does it matter if the very crux of why people risked it all (which is for YOU, THE people) don't seem to care?

So cheers to those who have been okay with having a warm feeling alone, standing outside the Matrix' illusionary framework. I guess we are the best at true #socialdistancing by default.
And for those of us who are losing steam with every stupid ass fear driven comment thrown at them like monkey shit, or getting shamed by the ill informed statistic concern troll who calls you a murderer because you question the media's fear porn power plays... Yeah, well, I understand and I am right there with you. Don't expect anyone to DM you and say, "I'm sorry I didn't believe you, you were right." They won't.

All you can do is make sure that you don't succumb to the apathy. If everyone thinks you are crazy for not buying into the same narrative that is hitting you at every angle, then how much worse can it get? You might as well continue shouting the truth anyway because at least you'll be able to sleep knowing you'll never run out of "sheep" to count.

What Is A NPC and Why They Ruin Everything

What is a NPC?

In video game world, an NPC is known as a "non-playable character." You know, the "extra" in the cast of role playing games. The scrub wench in the game, "The Witcher," or the old lady walking around in "Grand Theft Auto."  That is an NPC.

What is an NPC in real life?  They too are the extra non-playable characters in your day to day role playing illusionary existence. They are the "sheeple" who are in lower management, running around saying shit they heard on the news or ordering something that is trending because they want to live that #KardashianLife.   They are "all about ______ life" and make sure to post that in social media so that all the other NPC's will click 'Like,' thus their storyline, aka. Life , is retaining purpose for one more stupid mundane day. 

NPC people serve one master, that master is: Consumerism. They consume everything from trending foods to fake news. They consume any popular movement that is a trending hashtag for that week and will know nothing about why or what it is that needs "awareness" brought to it. They only know that it appears relevant and cool to be 'in' with the other NPC's who are hashtagging their asses off and wearing a specific color ribbon to broadcast that relevancy.

If they have children, you can bet your bottom dollar they will all decorate their kid's rooms in whatever the latest "hot thing" is on Pinterest. NPC people are the "collective."

Just like the Borg from Star Trek fame, the NPC of your life will try to assimilate you. When you won't assimilate, more NPC people will find out and then they all get "triggered" at once. This makes your life a living hell because you will have to eat your lunch alone in your car with the windows rolled up in order to feel safe from the NPC people's judgement.

In the game Grand Theft Auto as an example, you might think it was funny to smash an NPC over the head with a baseball bat. What harm is there?`You and your friends get a big laugh and continue with whatever mission you have on TeamSpeak and when you roll out of the compound you created in your fake GTA world, there is a SWAT team of NPCs standing there with guns blazing and a helicopter overhead firing at you. 
\

NPC people in real life are the same way, but you never hit them over the head with a baseball bat.
The only thing you did was exist independently and have original thoughts.

NPC people work for "the boss." Who is the boss? Well, there are middle management NPC's who are the reason you consider quitting your job every day, but they all work for "the boss."

The Boss is the agendas of all things terrible. Every divisive ideal, every new term overlaid onto any new way to be offended,  manufactured outrage, and lastly... power over all NPC's so that the NPC can destroy the "Player."

Who is the PLAYER?  If you've read this far without filling out one of those "this content offended me" things on Facebook or Twitter, you are a PLAYER.  You are an active, independent, original thinker with one true quest in your life... To be happy, have the right to think how you want to even if it goes against the pushed narrative...to make a difference, and to offer something of value to other people, and earn a living using the talent you have.

That's all you really want if you are a PlAYER. You want to direct your own path, choose for yourself, learn from your mistakes without having to apologize to 28 NPC's who have been given authority in the illusionary experience of your everyday life!

The PLAYER is the arch-nemesis of The Boss. That's why there's always a "boss fight" before you win any video game. You have to make sure you have all your shit in order before you fight The Boss because if you don't, you'll have to restart the quest over again and then usually you'll end up saying, "this game sucks, f*** this."

If there are no PLAYERS, there is no game. If there's no game, then there is no reason for brilliant artists and graphic designers, coders, and electrical geniuses to be employed. If they aren't employed, using their brilliance to enhance the experience of life, then they cease to be PLAYERS in the real game of life... and might end up as a dreaded NPC.
Too much?

Did you know the NPC memes were banned on Twitter? Who banned them? NPCs.

NPC's of REAL life, are triggered by pretty much anything that isn't their collective coding sequence.  If you ask a question that you legitimately want a real answer to, but it causes a cascade of coding failure in the NPC person's logical pathway, they behave irrationally and then revert to "the programmed response" and label you something like.... racist, fascist, nazi, white, rapist, suppressed person (scientology loves that one), or my favorite: Bad.  Just "you are a bad person."

 
Yeah....
The next pic is a classic NPC reaction....

If you aren't laughing at these, then you might be a NPC. Get help if you are, because you are terminally doomed to a life of unhappiness and stomach cancer.

NPC people in REAL life, come in all shapes, sizes, and colors... but they are gray on the inside. They have no real spectrum of emotion other than to assimilate emotions into a set of systematic responses that they have NEVER taken the time to fully understand in any real in depth way.

You might think that NPC's are only Millennials but they are in every age group, all social groups, and the bottom line is... They are the reason we no longer build shit like The Great Pyramid in Egypt or why most of Academia refuses to acknowledge the geological re-dating of the Sphinx by Dr. Robert Schoch, or why despite thousands upon thousands of documented proofs about everything ranging from JFK, UFOs, cures for cancer dating back 100 years in the past....the NPC's will always yell, "Conspiracy Theory!" 

The more mundane aspects of NPC people in real life are why everyday existence is like traversing a minefield. Every NPC is waiting to be triggered. They've set traps for everyone in their path. The traps are not for busting you, they are for assimilating you.

How do you know if you are surrounded by NPCs?
Well... you are. Aside from my obvious smartassery, I'll give you a real example of a typical NPC conversation. (this may or may not have happened to me)... it happened.

NPC Person:  I made up some rules that I never explained to you
                       and now you are in trouble for not following them.

Me.

NPC Person: You are really negative and angry! More trouble for you!
                       Follow rules! My rules! NO ask questions! No defend
                       self! Must comply to arbitrary rule! Must not question!





This is my life every single day as I live as a PLAYER and not a NPC.

The Middle Management NPC's are the real ones to watch out for. They are dangerous because they've had the NPC running code index for the longest amount of time. They are incapable of not running the exe.run//NPC mode.

 They control all of the drone NPC's who think they will one day be Manager NPC, but they won't because their coding has built in self-destruct virus sequences like:

1. POOR COMMUNICATION CODEX

2. ZERO SOCIAL SKILLS

3. NO SMILE DEFAULT

4. NO CREATIVITY OR ORIGINAL THOUGHT ALGORITHM

5. LOGIC MALFUNCTION CASCADE FAILURE WHEN LOGIC CODE IS NEEDED

6. OVERLOAD MAINFRAME WHEN CONFRONTED, INITIATING OUTRAGE SEQUENCE

7. SPORTS TEAM LOSES= BAD DAY CODEX RUN PROGRAM

8. DEFAULT SYSTEM = IGNORANT ASSHOLE MODE

NPC people won't read this blog. Also, NPC's never know they are NPCs until the PLAYER logs off.

Sometimes you have to log off in order to find a new quest.

For all the PLAYERS out there who are stuck inside of NPC hellscape, you CAN log off. You can.
You don't have to assimilate. Sure, it's harder to play the game, but if you like a good challenge and are set on "Expert mode," you are guaranteed to have a victory at the end of your metaphorical game.

That victory is....
You get to rest at night knowing you are not a NPC, running a code that is by its very nature, designed to fail.

Serious Clowns- The Tattered Fringe on the Stained Imperial Rug

Some may know, or not know, that I have worked in most forms of entertainment most of my life.
It has taken me a long time to figure out how to carefully phrase my feelings regarding my experiences with the not-on-the-highlight-reel moments in said industry.

I hope this article will be funny, but I dread the backlash I will receive from certain people who disagree with my personal opinion.

These days it seems that opinions are kerosine on the fire of self-important groups that love a good pity party about how they are unfairly bullied or offended.  (Yeah, I said that, quote master Mel atchur'service... tips accepted)

Here's what...
I don't care if you are offended by my opinion because I reserve the right to have a view point that doesn't jibe with various "group" or hive mentalities. The set up for this blog seems like I'm going to be discussing something serious, but I'm not. However, certain people will view it as serious because it challenges their own highlight reel of life.


Let us begin the power purge of stupidity... (Sound FX- vomiting)

In my life I have rolled through obstacles worthy of "adding to playlist" in one of those "controversial" indie documentaries that you see on your Netflix cue.  The most irritating obstacles I've faced were not the ones worthy of any avant garde filmmaker's camera lens. They are the stupid and ridiculous offerings of bad "art" teachers.

When I say "art" I specifically mean: acting & comedy. (I do recognize that music, magic, painting, etc.. are ART, I'm just not hating on those forms in this particular blog)

I've never been one for group fun. If it is a group setting, forced fun, or team building in general, I tend to allow my brain a full spectrum of discomfort.

 Somewhere deep down, I must be terribly paranoid about being forced into a cult. The old footage of the Jim Jones commune/cult, you know, the, "drink the koolaid and we will all die together" cult has always made me question the intelligence of human beings. The same goes for the goose stepping drones of Hitler's regime...parading around being assholes in spangly tailored outfits, convicted in the ideologies of an failed mentally ill person... thousands of them lined up in the street holding out their saluted arm, paying homage to an unattractive failed artist with half of a mustache and Shemp haircut... dead set on murdering millions of people because they reminded him of his mother's side of the family, i.e. Jews.

 I never knew how that little stupid angry man was able to convince a nation of supposedly rational minded Germans (as they are known to be) to carry out such a tall order.  But, I've always noted that my dad(a German) will do anything that someone with a name tag tells him to do... so there's that.

My point? Group fun usually ends up as being 'not fun' and typically reeks of the cult-like hive mentality.

I've experienced the discomfort and "beam me up" type thoughts many times in my life. I could give hundreds of examples, but I'll focus on one tiny slice of the whole pie.... Artist Workshops. (Acting, clowning, improvisation, etc..)

If you are reading this and have always thought about getting into the entertainment industry, in any field, I would urge you to take my advice as a trusted voice of reason. You don't have to, but I can prove that I have many scars and charred bits on my soul from being forced into shitty workshops to "learn the craft," or "expand awareness of the craft."  Just saying that out loud gives me hemorrhoids.

Everyone with self-proclaimed "experience" wants you to feel that you have NO experience, and in order to achieve the desired results within such-n-such field of artistry, you must attend the fucking "workshop." You don't have to do this. It's best if you don't. You will not feel better about  yourself after leaving the workshop, you will gain ZERO experience, and you will have mistakenly performed the metaphorical "naked dream" in front of an unsafe group of people who are being reassured by each failing moment, that THEY are better, and thusly... experienced.

You will never achieve experience by being in the presence of these tired vultures of the artist world. There is no seminar, workshop, or class that will ever teach you what you need to learn to be great on stage as a comedian. You just have to get on stage and do the thing you love because you love it. It isn't a competition, there's no right or wrong to art, there's only the audience's reaction to your success or failure to ENTERTAIN. Period.

Of course I believe that classes in things like dance, sculpting, painting,magic, gymnastics, aerial acrobatics, musical instruments... all of those classes teach something that has an actual technique or skill so you don't have to flounder around trying to figure it out all on your own.

The classes/workshops I am speaking of are of the more esoteric nature and are intended for the "serious" artist in the fields of nebulous art like acting or comedy.  You can learn something from the technical slanted classes in theatre arts, but that's truly a one-class thing. You don't need years of study to learn how to play make believe. You did it just fine when you were a kid, right? Yeah, it's the same thing now only you can get paid for playing pretend or doing funny things on a stage.

The worst of all classes I've attended in my life was one about 2.5 years ago. I can't say the name of the teachers but I will say this... it was a requirement for my job as a hospital clown to take this annual workshop. Each year brings forth new teachers, new techniques, a new approach to understanding the work as a comedy performer for sick kids. Well... this one particular workshop was akin to the feeling of being in a mind-control facility run by people who were products of the same terror they were selling... then add a French accent to one of the teachers and... Voila! Le Pie du Shit.

One of the teachers is a well-known comedic performer... or so I'm told. Apparently, in some circles of "serious clowning" he is the most respected teacher on the planet. Yeah, I said "serious clowning," and that's exactly why he sucks. If I said his name, I'm fairly certain that my car would be loaded with explosive clown noses... the gas loaded into those clown noses would be the methane from their own farts. These people love the smell of their own methane cloud. They love feeling like they are at the top of the REAL art form of comedy, i.e. the original purist form of comedy... that being the voice of humanity, the clown.

When I joined the circus back in 2009, I had NO idea that this weird clown worshipping cult existed. It isn't present in the circus world in the way that I'm talking about. I mean, you do get the idea that there's an underbelly of secret hand shaking that takes place among the generations of circus performers. However, that is more of a comradery thing though. Sort of a, "Hey, you busted your ass and lived on a train without your needs being met for basic survival too! We're friends!"

( I've always thought that the touring circus life was similar to military life... only we don't have guns, we have something more destructive... gossip. )

My life in the circus was incredible, incredibly painful, and well... just plain ol' incredible. I don't regret a moment of that journey.
The regret or deep dark dark sadness came after you leave the crazy train/circus life.  This is where you enter what I have named....

THE STAINED AND FRAYED FRINGE OF THE WORN OUT IMPERIAL RUG 

Have I pissed you off yet? If not, stick with me. You're in for a real tour de force of information that I think you will have a Grade A good time upon reading.

For 2. 5 years I've had this weight on my soul from this horrible workshop experience that I mentioned above. If I told the mainstream media about how a group of hospital clowns were subjected to verbal and borderline physical abuse for the desired outcome of being "funny for sick kids,"... well, they they would laugh it off as being a fabricated story to gain attention.

I'll never forget the set-up, and sucker punch to the face,  I received after the week of intentional artistic abuse.

You know when psychologist's speak of the "wounded inner child," phenomena being the root of all adult problems? Yeah, this workshop beat the shit out of my inner child, strung it up on a fence naked, and then taunted it for 3 days until it took its own life. (Tragic humor, sorry.)

What's worse is that the taunting came from a teacher/devil that looked like a dominatrix vixen with a thick French accent. Nothing compares to being taunted in a French accent.

I now understand the scene from Monty Python's, "Holy Grail," where the French guard says, "I shall taunt you a second time-uh." Nobody knows just how demoralizing that is until it happens to them. This workshop was, as I've said, a requirement for my work at a children's hospital as a therapy clown.

 I needed therapy after this workshop and any element of humor I once had was scattered throughout the solar system and headed straight for a brown dwarf star.

The day before the workshop, I had this looming dark feeling hovering over me. I felt like something bad was going to happen in the world. I have a very intact 6th sense and my psychic radar was howling like a tornado siren. I dismissed it because I could find no logical reason for the anxiety. The night before the workshop, I had a vivid dream of being in an apocalyptic scenario in which a MASSIVE world-ending tidal wave was coming straight for me. I tried to evacuate the city and warn everyone, but everyone was going about their day unaware of impending doom. I woke from the dream upon impact of the 100 story tall wave that hit my 1998 Saturn with a failing transmission. CRASH....

 (gasping for air, covered in sweat, still feeling the realness of the dream, panting, panting more... )  "Oh, that was just a dream! Thank GOD! Oh, wow, I'm alive...  It's workshop day, I better get up and get moving so I'm not late for that! This will be FUN!"

(tears of irony stream down my face)

I arrive at the theatre where this workshop was held and there's a weird silence that seems to be hovering over everyone. It's like subconsciously we all knew this would be the death of our joy?

Anyways...

The workshop teachers were poised at the other side of the room, the sunlight was grazing their faces, and their boundaries- as thick as bricks.

 My immediate gut feeling/intuition was that these two people were having an affair with one another. My secondary observation was, "why isn't that woman wearing shoes? Gross."  (Shoeless people in public settings gross me out. I feel like they are forcing intimacy or something? I don't know, it bothers me on a deep level though.)

My third observation was that everyone in the workshop had their guard down. I felt like I should also drop my guard because, "hey, this is going to be fun right?" Wrong. So fucking wrong.

The first exercise was some sort of game that determines how clever you are. I hate those. These games typically have a million rules to them and most of the time you just get caught up in the rules and then are told, (when you fail) "You can't over think it, just do."

FUCK YOU. Don't set up an improvisational game that has 43 rules to it that all require a college level knowledge of syntax in order to succeed, and then say, "you are thinking about that too much." No, No, I'm not, I'm merely integrating the rules of your stupid fucking game into my head so that I don't show my ass in front of a room of people who are ready to watch anyone but themselves FAIL.

I should mention that I "won the game." This was the FIRST time in my life that I have ever won any of these over-complicated improv games. I was shocked by this victory. I might have even gloated in my own head over the success of this hurdle that once evaded me.

 This success was short lived, and I soon realized that these asshole teachers were only playing this game to figure out who they would take down a few pegs. I wouldn't be writing this blog right now if I had just played dumb and failed the stupid game. I wouldn't have been the object of their public lynching sessions.

The guardian angel that sits on my shoulder was saying, "Melodee, just stay positive, the day is almost over, just smile and be thankful, and enjoy the process."

We played more stupid ass games and I swallowed more rage and discomfort, and the day was coming to and end- Finally.  When we were all leaving, I was smiling at the teachers and said, "Thank you for the day, I'm looking forward to tomorrow."

The French bitch demon from hell taunted me with the following statement... "ha ha, You are so funny Melodee. You are like a robot. A little robot saying what she is suppose to say."

In my mind I wanted to be like, "Yes, I am a robot, and I'm programmed to rip the smug smile of your smug fucking face.... (destruction sounds)..."

But instead, like a chump, I took a deep breath and said, "No, I am just being positive. But whatever, good night."

I left the workshop and thought that I needed to drink heavily in order to cope with my rage. I ended up going to Applebees with two of the other workshop people and we drank beer and talked shit. It was awesome and healing. I shook off the day and the robot comment, and worked out extremely hard when I got home. I lifted a lot of weight, did 45 minutes of ass blasting cardio, and punched some shit... and I felt good.

That night I had another dream...

My Grandmother(the wisest person I ever knew) had never visited me in a dream since her passing. That night, she showed up and the setting was a church, and she was trying to tell me something major but instead I was confused and then was scolded by church members who told me I couldn't park the car in the space I had parked it in.  This is funny for a lot of reasons... I'll see if you can put together the metaphor after you read the blog.

Day Two of Le Voyage avec Devil.... or something...

We arrived early that day,  everyone was tired and feeling a false sense of security. We walked into the room and again, in all her barefoot glory, was the Dominatrix Clown of France and the "Brilliant" Stylings of the Royal Thread on the Fringy Imperial Rug of clowning.

This male teacher, the "Royal Thread on the Fringe," is touted as being THE authority on everything clowning related. Nothing about this man is funny. Nothing. He looks like the most miserable sack of shit in the world. His face has permanent anger lines, he never smiles, and he makes gross generalizations about "the craft" that make the weaker minded people shutter with awe and reverence.

 If anyone actually stopped to think about what he was saying, you would think, "Who the hell does he think he is? That's total bullshit!" It is total bullshit. Filled to the brim of self-satisfaction and narcissism, he spouts advice on the "art" of making people laugh as though he holds some sort of divine alchemist cook-book to "what is serious comedy." Oxymoron anyone?


Day two required at least 33% of our individual light bodies or over-souls in order to power through the 4th Seal of the Apocalypse. Only to be broken by the French Succubus and her Divine Revered Clown buddy. I had no idea that I would be the sacrificed lamb in their 'end of days' workshop on hospital clowning.

The day began with a very uncomfortable "game" in which you are forced to close your eyes and massage the person next to you. No, I'm not joking.

 She would walk around with her feet out, all barefooty n' lilithy,  and say sensual shit in the ears of her soon-to-be slaughtered clown lambs like, "yes, good, c'est bon, just feel zee room, touch your partner'rrr, and feel zee breaking of zee boundary... c'est bon."

All the while, there's some sort of erotic new agey massage music playing in the background.

My inner thoughts were racing with things like, "this isn't weird right? No, this is pretty weird Mel... I feel weird about this... I don't understand. Oh, we are still doing this, oh man... this is still happening... okay it has to be over soon right? Shit, we are STILL doing this? Okay this is fucking weird. I hate this."

I would look around at other people, and I felt like they thought it was weird too, but everyone seemed to be "takin' it."  Again... this is the beginning of the cult thing that I am fearful of... "the koolaid can't be THAT bad right? Oh fuck, I'm dying." Or the, "Wait. Why am I living in a commune with barefoot people that share sexual partners? I just wanted to learn gardening? Welp, I guess it's too late to cut out of here."

We get through that, it was weird- rape shower was needed, boundaries broken, confusion and shame...

Then we get to do yet another "game" where again, eyes are closed,  and this time we get to "kill" one another... but only one person would be the "killer"... This type of game is supposed to be fun, but when your fucking eyes are closed, you end up getting hurt and feeling like prey.

This specific game of hurty "cat and mouse," was yet another game that I victoriously won. Again, this doesn't happen to me typically. I'm not a team player and I don't care about shit like that enough to try to win.

 I somehow avoided being "killed" by the "cat" and was told after the game was over with that I had won the game. The French witch said in her thick accent, "Melodee, tisk tisk tisk, you were not killed by zee cat. You did not play zee game. Zee fun is to be killed by zee cat. You are much too clever Melodee, perhaps you are zee cat, no?"

(this was not a compliment because she basically meant that I ruined the fun for everyone... by not being killed by a fucking clown cat chasing clown rats...all of which are blind and it's pure fucking luck that I wasn't "killed.")

In my head, I wanted to say, "No bitch, I survived your stupid fucking cat game because I'm a fucking survivor, you don't know my story bitch."  But instead, I was a chump, and said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought the object of the game was to escape the cat's lethal bite? No? Oh, okay. Whoops. Sorry."

To which she replied, "It's okay Melodee, my clever little cat. Very clever little cat...."(trailing off in a horror movie doom/final words you hear before you see a demon crawling on the ceiling)


**I should mention that I'm writing all of this so that I can officially let it go.***

Day three of the bullshit...

This was the crucifixion of the inner child day. All forms of humiliation were in full force on Day three. All of us double timing it with our crown of thorns and clown noses on, jogging up to Crucifixion hill, all of us praying for a quick death.

The other teacher, the well-known comedic performer that was with the French demon, didn't add anything to the workshop except for judgmental looks and the occasional shitty demoralizing remark to someone  as he continued surfing the web on his laptop.

Everyone was afraid of stating the obvious, "This kind of fucking sucks, right? Is (name of teachers) kind of fucking horrible people?"

Yes, yes they are. They are pieces of shit. Why are they pieces of shit? Because shit used to be something, but is now just waste material that reeks up the room until it get's buried and becomes fertilizer for things that are far more beautiful than it ever was.

The major thing that happened on Day three  was another game that involved role playing. (oh just wait)  We pretended to walk into a hospital room and we had to make up an imaginary game in which the room was something it wasn't.  Example: You can't walk in and acknowledge that it is a hospital room with a sick kid in it. You have to instead walk in and pretend that it is the fucking zoo, or a space ship, or whatever it fucking isn't.

I know that game sounds like an interesting technique that might have the possibility of being fun for a child who isn't feeling great about life... but listen to me, it wasn't that game. There were no rules for the game other than to pretend the room was something it wasn't, and mime things that went along with your pretend game... "there is no right or wrong in zee game, zee game is play!"

Okay... So I'm thinking, "I got this shit. I can easily play a game of imagination . No problem. No rules? Great. Let's do this!"

Well, apparently their were rules... secret demonic French rules that only applied to "imagination that I don't like." If she didn't like you turning the room into a game of "playing like it was a carnival" then she would stop you and scream at you and humiliate you by saying that you didn't understand the game. Meanwhile, you saw the other people in the workshop come up with shit and they weren't stopped mid-game, nor were they reprimanded publicly?  There's more to it than what I'm saying but rest assured, other teams didn't play the game correctly either but they weren't hung on the fence and flogged.  I remember this one moment during the exploitation of my partner and I, a moment that could've been disastrous. I had 2 choices. I could be the biggest most sarcastic "Lewis Black" type smart ass/funny/angry yelling and over-doing the game to the point of it being obvious that I hated them.... OR.... I could have a nervous breakdown and go back into the room and Thor kick this bitches teeth out.  I chose the first option.

After I Lewis Blacked my way out of the beating/game then she kind of looked at me like a wounded demon puppy and said, "that will be all Melodee." The day ended after that.  The last day of the workshop, I was in full psychosis.  My spirit was broken, my soul was missing, and I felt the rage of 20,000 rabid wolves. I can honestly say that I have rarely felt this way in my life. It takes a lot to push me that far down the rabbit hole of darkness. I'm naturally the kind of person that would say, "No, I'm good, things happen, but I'm going to be great, no worries." (as a raging fire consumes my car, my wallet has been stolen, and I have pneumonia and my dog died)  So... for these workshop TEACHERS to destroy my spirit the way they did, I honestly feel that they should issue a disclaimer....

"We know you want to be a funnier comedy performer for sick kids in a hospital. This workshop will not be fun, rewarding, nor will it enhance your growth in any possible way. In fact, there's a 88% chance that you will end your life after experiencing this psychological warfare. Your inner child will be dismembered and strewn about the etheric realm, and you will need a coping mechanism installed before you return to work and watch actual children die. This soul sacrificing and slaughtering of all that is holy and pure, is required to be a serious clown. We know that this paradox or oxymoron of 'serious clowning' can be snickered within the confines of your mind, but, through the process of this workshop and many other workshops like this one, you will not have the energy, nor wit, nor thirst for laughter to be able to snicker at the term 'serious clowning' or 'serious comedian.' You will be a mere hull of what you once were. You will resent the job of making other's laugh and you will want to make people cry. There's beauty in tears, pain, and serious clowning. In fact, the only way to be a successful clown is to be a miserable old fuck that overcomplicates something as simple as giving joy to others. You see, it isn't about that for us old miserable smug farting clowns anymore. Nigh! It is about making anyone who has talent feel like they will never be good enough or deep enough to use a whoopee cushion, play pretend games with kids, or to just fucking smile and mean it.  It is the role of the old miserable fuck workshops in acting/comedy to kill your dream and ruin all the hallmark moments wrapped up in your confidence.  Lastly, we will charge thousands of dollars to make you feel like shit about your God given ability to bring joy to others through your art. "


So...
I say to you, people who still have joy in your heart, please don't sell this spark of divinity to miserable hacks on the stained fringe of the Imperial carpet. Nobody is an expert on art. Nobody. You can learn things that inspire you through teachers that are worthy of your inspiration. If they make you feel beaten, without worth or value, full of doubt about  your desire to be an artist, they are not teachers. They are terrorists.

I hope this blog somehow gets circulated to the people who have been wondering why they feel like shit about themselves after taking classes with these so-called "experts and brilliant teachers of art." Ask your heart how you feel when you take a class or workshop from one of these "brilliant" teachers. If you don't feel uplifted, full of joy, and thirsty for the experience of  self-expression, then you aren't being taught anything. Your spark is being chipped away slowly & expensively,  by those who aren't worth the shit on your shoe.


That's all I gotta say. If anyone in the world of 'serious artists' wants to shame me for what I said, then I ask you to do it publicly so that everyone will know to avoid your overpriced bullshit workshops in the future.

I'm out.

Ps. I'm better now.

Raised By Germans, A Hilarious True Story.

We've all heard the phrase, "Raised by wolves." From the moment I had cognitive thoughts, I knew what that phrase meant. I often felt that if my family were "wolves" then I was a coyote. I managed to blend from a distance, but a closer look would reveal that not everyone in the pack was a wolf. "Who's the ruffled gamey looking wolf in your pack?" "Oh, that's my daughter, Melodee. She's a Coyote-Dog hybrid pretending to be a wolf, and my son, Darren, he's a Sloth in a wolf costume."

I've always related to the Coyote. It's a scavenger, hunts with other animals like raccoons, skunks, badgers, other dogs, foxes, opossums... it's a reasonable animal that tries to get the job done without making a big deal about the hunting process.  The Coyote is looking for results like, "will I eat sooner if I hunt with this smelly ass skunk?" It doesn't think, "Oh, I'll eat the skunk and that will be my din din on Thursday." No way. It realizes that the skunk is a valuable partner in the quest, the on-going quest for survival. You can't eat your own personal "Seal Team 6," and expect to slay Osama. It's just not a good move.

I set all of this up to say this- I was definitely "raised by wolves," or as I like to call them, Germans.

Don't get me wrong, Germans are incredible. They are organized, hard-working, efficient, industrious, hearty and strong. They can be tender hearted, loving, and compassionate too. However, not without showing you all the reasons why you are in the perilous situation you are currently in, forcing you to face those flaws, and then shaming you into asking them to "save you from yourself."
Hilarious.

Speaking of hilarious, they aren't. They aren't funny in the way that I am funny or the way you might be funny. A German may not even read this post because it's a waste of working time. They will not slack on the job, ever. They are like ants. Hoisting up things that are 100 times heavier than they are, and schlepping them to and fro' until 5pm when the bell rings. Then they go home, eat, and then sleep in a reasonable sleeping position.  They are elated to get up at 5am and do it all over again.

There's NOTHING in my DNA that finds this awesome. Nothing. I appreciate it, but my brain is far too philosophical and rational for the rigid methodology the German's have.  My Dad will think, "Obviously we get up when the sun rises because that's the natural order of things."  Whereas I may think, "Let's let the sun have some alone time for a while and then we can casually join up with it later when everyone has fully come into the joy of the day."

By the time I was 7 years old, I was fully capable of running most of the large industrial machines in my Dad's steel working machine shop. I knew how to weld, use the heavy grade Drill Press, change tires, use the tractor, cut metal into mathematically perfect pieces according to a blueprint, and routinely picked metal shavings out of my skin.  If I wanted to do "kid things" or coveted "kid stuff," I got the German version of those things.

Example: My friend who lived down the street, Eric, got a tree house. His dad went to Home Depot and bought a pre-fab tree house and followed the instruction manual to install the fun into a pre-existing tree on their land. I was highly jealous of this tree house. My brother and I asked my German Dad for a treehouse "like the one Eric has." We were questioned for at least 45 minutes about our plans for this tree house and the purpose of it in our lives. My Dad was only sold on the idea when I managed to say something about wanting to learn more about the constellations, thus it would serve as a sort of "observatory."  The next week, my Dad pulls into the back 4 acres of the land with trees he had cut down, metal wedge pieces he had fabricated in the machine shop, and bolts that would've changed the destiny of the Titanic.

He had a blueprint he had drawn up himself using a great deal of math. He began the back breaking work of digging holes in the ground. Why was he digging holes in the ground? I asked him this.

"Melodee, now, listen, you must have stabilizing posts for something like this or else the storms will knock it down and then what?"  I remember thinking, "isn't the tree itself a stabilizing post?"

My Dad wasn't using a tree as anything other than the wood to build what would soon be a ready made World War I replica fort.  This thing could've lasted through another Texas/Mexico revolution. Santa Anna would have had NOTHING to say if he rolled up on this thing.

There were 3 different access points to the fort. You could use an army ladder that would come up through a trap door with solid stainless steel hinges/latch. You could use the solid OAK ladder that was hinged onto the side along with removable options incase of invasion. Thirdly, you could potentially use a rope that was perfectly tied in military scaling knots attached to the very apex of the structure.  Choose wisely the way you will enter the fort. If you chose the easier route, my German Dad would question why you are uncomfortable with the flimsy helicopter rescue ladder or the rope.  That happened.

In fact, before we were able to actually play on the fort, we had to practice climbing into it using all three methods of entry. By the time you COULD play on the fort, your arms were burning and all you wanted was some cold Kool-Aid from inside the house. To ask for such things; Kool-Aid, Gatorade, Water, you would be admitting to my Dad that you were quite inferior, thus not worthy of the fort. So one would just sucked it up, stay up there, sitting quietly for hours, mentally dried out of fun ideas or creative play.

He must've known that at some point the "treehouse/not treehouse/fort" would be a valuable tool for saving our lives. One summer night back in 1988, there were reports of various scary cult type people infiltrating farms in the area. They were mutilating animals, kidnapping kids with green eyes(my eye color), and performing Satanic rituals in abandoned sheds or on the back acreage of people's farms.

German's have a sense of humor but it's not sarcasm, nor irony, and definitely not silly story-telling. They have a MEAN sense of humor, finding nothing more hilarious than to laugh at your expense via a practical joke. Usually this practical joke consisted of a huge amount of planning on the part of the joker.... Well, if you're German that is.... they are always planning.

It was around 10pm one night....

My brother and I were playing "pirate games" in the fort. I was always Capt. Silver, had my peg leg made from a wooden stick, barking orders at my brother to "hoist the sails, lower the ramps" or whatever made-up Pirate thing I could think of that sounded legit.

We had recently installed canvas flaps on the west side of the fort that were originally for blocking out the setting sun. (My Mom was always concerned about us getting too hot, but we were fine because my brother and I are brown people in the summer)
My Dad always told us to "put up those canvas flaps at night because people could hide in there and you would never know it, then what?!"  Lots of warnings like that coming from him all-the-time.

We had the flaps down. We had lanterns and we had my Dad's flashlights... all of them. We were deep into playing Pirates because it was more believable at night. We couldn't see the ground much, i.e. the ground was more believable as the open sea. Get it? Kid logic.

Germany had plans, mean hilarious scarring plans.

My Dad had an array of ski-masks and various helmets for welding. He had military shit or "gear." He had a lot of things that we weren't allowed to touch, yet, or at least not until we were given proper instructions/lessons concerning those things. He was an excellent trap builder. Vietnam style booby traps were kind of "his thing."  Living out in the country, you are always on high-alert for any noises coming from the back acres. In Texas, noises could be anything from a Bobcat to a black panther. (no really, we have big ass jungle cats in parts of Texas- google if you don't believe me)

My brother and I heard some groaning sounds coming from underneath the fort. Deep groaning followed by a rhythmic thumping. We had the flaps down. Fear set in. We can't lift the flaps because we have that fear thing going on. I mean, we were Pirates a few minutes ago but now we are trapped prey in a fort with all the ladders fully accessible to anyone who might want to climb up. Whatever this sound is, it's coming from under the fort. Hell no we ain't gettin' down! Nope.

We were trembling in fear and thought that whatever it was, it would eventually get bored and go away. I began hearing muffled sounds coming from the barn. The barn was parallel to the fort about 100 yards back. It sounded like talking or chanting. I remembered at that moment the stories from the news about the cult people. I told my brother (he was about 5  years old) that we needed to get out of the fort and run as fast as we could to the house. I told him that he needed to just run and not look back. (The story of Lot's wife in the bible always bothered me on a deep level... I was sure that I would at some point be faced with someone turning into salt)

We waited. I put up my Long John Silver's peg leg stick prop, and we had to figure out what exit to take. Forget the flashlights and lanterns. No time, no time.  I knew the fastest exit was the rope. I hated the rope. HATED IT. We could jump? We could jump from the back part of the fort where there were no ropes or ladders! Yeah, that's the easiest thing and nobody will expect us to be coming from there. Yeah, we will jump!

I told my brother he had to jump first. (ha ha ha ha ha ha ha) He was crying and I kept hitting him saying "shut up idiot! SHUT UP! They will hear you!!!!" I think, but I'm not certain of this, but I think I pushed him off the fort? Yeah I know... Whatever, he's fine.

Whatever happened, he jumped. I was waiting for the "thud" sound and then the sound of him running his ass off through the brush. I heard none of that. I heard NOTHING. "How is that possible?" I kept thinking that thought as repeating loops in my head. I decided I had better jump too.

I jumped and instead of hitting the ground, I kept falling. I fell into a hole full of hay and foam and the more I struggled the more I noticed a net wrapping around me. Then I saw a huge man with a black mask on and scary blacked out goggles! He was holding my brother who had a potato sack over his head, kicking and screaming....  "HOLY COW! NO!!!! " (The term 'holy cow' was really big then)

I still heard the voices coming from the barn too! I started yelling, "DAD! DAD HELP! THE CULT PEOPLE ARE HERE HELP!"  This went on for what felt like forever. It was probably only a few minutes in reality.  The man in the mask groaned at me and said in a growly voice, "you want your Dad's help?" I was screaming saying, "YES! YES PLEASE I WANT MY DAD! PLEASE!"

Big reveal: 

The mask comes off, it's my Dad, and he's laughing so hard he can't breathe. He bounds off toward the barn(still laughing) and turns off the radio he is playing in the barn. The station was on KNON and it was the Native American portion of the show that use to play at night.  He grabs the Jam Box and showed it to us while laughing harder than I can truly explain with words. The kind of laughing where you are actually concerned about the possibility that they will run out of air.
We were just blankly staring at him. I knew my 5 year old brother was probably, rest assured, in ACTUAL shock.  My Dad kept saying, "that's why y'all need to put those canvas flaps up. I was waiting under there for 2 hours and I could've been anybody, not your dad, but any ol' person just waiting to kill ya."

Point taken Dad. We got it. We also got PTSD.

I have at least 100 more stories like that. AT LEAST. No, I'm not joking. We always fell for it. The one time we didn't fall for it, it wasn't my Dad and I still don't know what that was. (@Kristen Walker- you know what I'm talking about... Bigfoot? Demon? Zodiac Killer?)

In the months that passed, my Dad would obsessively ask us if we raised the canvas flaps at night. We always raised them after that night. Later that year, I failed my science test. The test was about planets and stars. The fort was then outfitted with graph paper and a telescope. My Dad expected me to chart the stars and quizzed me on latitude and longitude as well as being able to tell time based on the North star, Sun, and position of all of the above. My Dad told me that I wasn't a real pirate, nor could I be a real pirate if I didn't know how to navigate using the stars. It was "just silly to think you could be a pirate on the open sea without knowing where you are going Melodee."  Riiiiiight, but we are on a fort in Texas, surrounded by land... but whatever.  


To this day, my Dad puts us through multiple tests. Just yesterday I was quizzed on when to plant Garlic, and where to plant it to achieve maximum mosquito free living during the summer months. I also wanted to use his shop vac and he forced me to take apart the bottom piece so that I could see how over stuffing it with filth could damage the area where the lithium battery was held.  I had no plans to overstuff the shop vac by the way. I don't lack common sense.

Here I am in 2015... Writing about these memories.  I'm so thankful that this Coyote, i.e. Me,  had a chance to be raised by wolves. I may still be a Coyote, and my brother is definitely still a Sloth, but we are better scavengers than we were born to be. We have built many metaphorical forts in our lives and we know how to exit and enter them without fear. We've been caught in life's booby traps, and we always raise the canvas flaps to our "fort." I now realize that this is his form of "story telling." He must pass on the things he has learned so that when he's gone, he can go in peace knowing that all of us can change a tire, fend off cult leaders, climb a rope, change a tire, fabricate metal things, grow our own food, and if we are lost at sea- we can use the stars to get to dry land.  

Hot Shot Weather People- The Late For Fun Edition

Recently in the DFW area,

We have had a great deal of bad winter weather. I mean, it's nothing like what is happening on the east coast or Minnesota... but, if you live in the north, you sort of expect that you will be punched in the balls by weather conditions at some point. Am I right?

Here in Texas, "we don't take kindly to dark n' scary cold clouds."

For me, personally speaking, I would rather light myself on fire rather than have to be cold for more than a week. It's been at least three weeks of this arctic tundra crap. I'm about ready to start pouring the gasoline on my body.

What is worse than being super cold and hating it?
Answer: Hot Shot Weather people who are late for fun. Or as I like to call them, HSW's.

What is a Hot Shot Weather person?
Answer: The kind of person who says things/does things with full on religious zealot energy in the worst weather conditions.  You mix that type of person with the "Late For Fun" attitude...
You have a hazardous state of affairs to contend with.

Did you know that last Friday in the DFW metroplex there were 402 car accidents in 30 minutes?  
 That is a real number... I'm not making that up at all. In fact, the number is probably higher than that. I sort of stopped watching the news after that information entered my ear.


Why was there 402 wrecks in 30 minutes you ask?
Answer: Hot Shot Weather People who are Late For Fun.

I want you to really think about that for a minute... don't worry, I'll wait..........................................

Done thinking?

FOUR HUNDRED AND TWO accidents in THIRTY MINUTES.  Can you imagine the various fire station workers after Friday night? I can...

"So Dan, um... you think I can take a quick nap now or um... (emergency call ring)....DAMN IT... are you serious? How many? Come on Steve, you are totally yanking my chain right? What the *#$#@! We live in a state full of 4x4 trucks? How Steve? How?" 

Last Friday-

I was working in Fort Worth doing my show there the entire day. When I left the parking garage that day, I could see the highway from a higher vantage point. I swear to you with zero exaggeration, it looked EXACTLY like something in a Michael Bay film:  An unnecessary action sequence that does NOT further the plot of the movie whatsoever.

Let's see, we have...

Giant SUV's sliding backward down the overpasses? Check.
Small sedan on fire with screaming woman holding her face watching it burn? Check.
Three small cars and one giant douchebag truck entangled around a street lamp? Check.
Hundreds of flares and police officials waving their arms in the air saying,"Go Around." Check.
No less than 12 emergency vehicles parked on the shoulder of I-30? Check.
Excessive car horn honking and muffled yelling background noise? Check.
Local News crews taking up residence on the side of embankments? Double Check.
....Michael Bay Movie?

What the hell happened?
Answer again: Hot Shot Weather People who were Late For Fun.

If you were one of the people trying to "speed" down the highway.... the highway that was covered in oily slickidy slick ice 4 inches thick...
Do me a favor and shoot your tires out while you still have limbs. I'm totally not kidding.
Do the world a favor and check yourself out of the driving game. We don't want you anymore.

However,
The MOST irritating thing to me about HSW people is how they talk about their future driving plans.
Here's an example: 
"We still have plans to go to that play tonight in Downtown, right?" 
My Answer: Um... have you been outside? That (probably stupid) play is about the last thing on my priority list right now. It is taking a backseat to Survival (number one) or Inconvenient Stupid Situation I Don't Want (number two).

They might say, "Nah, it's fine. Everyone is over reacting. I don't even need a jacket! I like the cold." 

Okay hot shot, you don't wear that jacket. Jackass. You are, at best, buzzard food in the near future.

(For a moment I thought about not cursing in this blog but I can't stop myself. It's unnatural to not curse when your blood is boiling.  Plus, if you are offended by the cursing, don't read the blog. It's that simple. )

There were several situations during the icy road conditions that made me reconsider whether or not lead was contaminating the water supply here in DFW. I really believe something is super wrong with a lot of people that I know.
The following happened to me several times during the worst of the winter sh**...

I, Melodee, would have a very natural concern about driving 25 miles from where I live to be at 'unsaid' place. I would voice my concerns to 'unsaid' people.  These people (there were several) would say, "I just looked outside and it's not bad at all."
IT'S NOT BAD WHERE YOU LIVE ASSHOLE! BUT YOU AREN'T THE CENTER OF THE F***ing WINTER STORM!

This was my favorite ACTUAL quote/situation...  (This came from an event that was scheduled on the worst possible day during the winter ice fest of 2015)

(phone call)
Me: Is the event cancelled for tomorrow?

Answer: No. It's supposed to be above freezing so it's still scheduled.

Me: I'm looking at the news right now and it's only supposed to be a high of 34 degrees.

Answer: Uh huh. So, we will see you there!

Listen to me people...

If it has been sleeting for over a week on and off, with the climax of that ice being the night before this event... Do you really think the minute the temperature gets above freezing the roads will be 100% A-f***in'-okay?
Hot Shot Weather People think that.  Hot Shot Weather people also think that, "slowing down on the ice" is merely a suggestion.

I  happen to know for a fact that the person that answered the phone lives ACROSS THE STREET from where the event was taking place.

Again.... sorry to flog a deader than dead horse here people but I gotta...

JUST BECAUSE YOU LOOK OUTSIDE OF YOURRRRRR DOOR AND IT'S NOT BAD, DOESN'T MEAN THAT EVERYONE ELSE HAS THE SAME POV CAM. (point of view camera)

I wonder if there was a tribe back during the Ice Age that received a message somehow in their ancient way of receiving messages...  probably some type of scout newb that was sent out to see what the neighboring tribes were doing...

(out of breath) "Chief Hot Shot! The entire world is covered in ice. Lil' Newb can't possibly bring back the feather of an Eagle for our Spring tidings on time?! What do you mean it looks fine here? I just told you that the entire world was covered in ice! "

And that was the first Hot Shot Weather Person who would be late for fun.

That tribe died out from being stupid.

You should tell people that story if they are HSW people. You can really juice it out and make it seem like an old ancient proverb or some shit. HSW's are so stupid they will totally believe it. Hell, it might keep them from making impulse monkey brain decisions in hazardous weather conditions.


Look, here's the deal...
Don't ask me to go do shit when you know I'll be taking a risk that will either: A) Kill me. B)Kill someone else via my vehicle. C) Force me to sit in a line of cars on a major highway, cold n' shivering, burning gas, and getting angrier and more resentful of you & your stupid ass plan by the second.

I won't go.
I quit.

I don't care about my job, a plan, or anything in conditions like that.  If there is more than a 20% chance I will have to make a call to my insurance company later that day, I'm not interested in going.

There's nothing THAT important that you need me to do. Nothing. I'm not a doctor,  an EMT, firefighter, police officer or a DOT sand truck driver. The reason I'm not any of those things is because I hate it when people NEED me for sh**. You don't need me. There's no "emergency entertainers."
However, I will say that I AM a clown part-part-time at a children's hospital. However,  I doubt any of the kids I see would like to hear, "Melodee isn't here today because she died in an icy tangled up wreck on Airport Freeway. She was trying to get here... to see you."  I don't carry a cross with me to work for a good reason. Someone already did that 2500 years ago so that I wouldn't have to.

Disclaimer: I'm not callous, I'm being logical. Something that most entertainers are not, sadly.  I'm sure a select few of them would say, "that's why you aren't a serious clown/actor/whatever..."  To that I will say, "what are you even talking about? Hello, I'm Clown Oxymoron. I took my job as a clown so serious that I ignored all logic in order to make children laugh, but they didn't, cause I'm dead now." 
I digress...

You aren't late for fun. Nobody is having fun when they are STUCK IN A LINE OF TRAFFIC FOR 4 HOURS!!!!!!  NOBODY.

Last thing:
The bartenders/waiters at the restaurant you want to go "have fun at" during the ice storm... They are definitely NOT having fun. Furthermore, they hate you. YOU are the reason why they are STILL at work asshole.

OKAY.... I'm done. I have cabin fever. Maybe I should go out and have fun. I hope I'm not too late.

Tammy Titi Monkey & The Stolen Opper Tuneti Treats- A True Story of Selfishness (real and funny and real funny)

*The characters in this story may be based on actual people. The point of the story remains valid in spite of the ridiculousness. Enjoy* 


Tammy Titi is a monkey at the local zoo, a Titi Monkey.

Being a special type of monkey, Tammy Titi relied heavily on her cunning and shrewd monkey brain to trick all the other animals in the zoo.

Tammy Titi had to share a habitat with several animals. There was Blitzy the Ox, Jeff the Lemur, Maxine the Gorilla, Roger the Parrot, Trevor the Snake, Donny the Donkey, and Castor the Snow Leopard.

Tammy Titi was smaller than most of the animals she had to share her space with. And over the years, she had figured out how to hoard the most food from Zookeeper Opper Tuneti.

Opper Tuneti was a fair and just zookeeper. He always brought plenty of food for all of the animals to enjoy. He made sure that the food was nutritious, delicious, and satisfying.  Each individual animal at the zoo had their own special meals and treats.

 Blitzy the Ox liked hay, Jeff the Lemur preferred watermelon, and even Trevor the Snake got his belly full on snake kibbles n' bits!

Ol' Tammy Titi didn't like all the attention that Opper Tuneti gave all the animals in the zoo. She decided she'd find a way to steal their food after Opper Tuneti filled their respective bowls.

Tammy Titi thought, "How dare they think Opper Tuneti gave them anything!  I'm the most cunning, quick, and intelligent animal here! I'll use my monkey brain and my monkey body to swoop down and gather up the food that Opper Tuneti placed out for them. I know,  I'll do it a little bit at a time so they won't notice it's me that is taking their rations! "(evil monkey laugh)

Day by day the animals were hungrier and hungrier.

Donny Donkey brayed, "I'm hungry, I'm hungry, there's never enough to eat! I'm hungry, I'm hungry, there's never enough to eat! Opper Tuneti, come back! I'm hungry, I'm hungry!"

Roger the Parrot squawked, "Shut up Donny Donkey! Shut up! Shut up! Opper Tuneti just gave you your food and I saw you eat it!  You're fine! I'm the hungry one!"

Tammy Titi watched them all complain. They became drained with each passing week.

Tammy Titi's tree was packed full of goodies. She had Blitzy's hay, Jeff's watermelon, Donny's sugar cubes, and Castor Leopard's steak. She had it all placed in hide-away holes in Tammy Titi's tree.  Tammy Titi couldn't eat half of the food she had stored away.  Why some of the food isn't even suitable for a Titi monkey!

Opper Tuneti came by each day. With each visit, He began to wonder why all of the animals were complaining so much? Opper Tuneti reckoned that He wasn't giving them enough food. Yet, confused  He thought that in His perfect system that they should be thriving by now?

 He scratched his head and sighed, "I'll make more of my special Opper Tuneti's gourmet treats next time. That should make everyone very happy indeed."

Opper Tuneti slaved away making the perfect treats for each animal. (including ol' Tammy Titi Monkey)

 He was so excited to give them their afternoon snack, he forgot to make their lunch that day. Tuckered out,  he fell asleep and took a long, long, snoooooozzzzzzzzzz... (snore, snore, snore)

Tammy Titi Monkey was primed and ready to do what she always did- swoop down and take the other animals food.

She didn't hear Opper Tuneti calling her name this time. "Where is he! Where is he, " she shrieked. (like monkey's often do) "It's half past 2 and I'm hungrier than you!" She yelled loudly to the other animals below.

Castor the Leopard had suspicions about Tammy Titi. Leopard's after all, are the smartest and the cleverest cats in the world. They can hide in plain sight and observe their prey for days before striking. Leopard's  know  how to climb trees by the way! Often, they take their prey into the tall, tall, tree tops to feast in solitude.

 Tammy Titi didn't know this about Castor Leopard... and that's the way Castor liked it.  (leopard wink)

Maxine, the Gorilla, had her suspicions too. She knew Opper Tuneti much longer than any of the other animals. Opper Tuneti was her friend, a long time friend. He had given her many treats over the years, and never had she gone without.  Maxine, like most Gorillas, had patience and wisdom.

Gorillas are known as Great Apes for a reason.  She would console the hungry animals and say, "Don't worry!  Opper Tuneti will come, you'll see! Just have patience. He's never failed me, and I know He won't fail you."

Tammy Titi was becoming restless and impatient, a typical monkey trait. She started throwing her poop at the other animals from strategic locations.

 She would give out a shrill shriek, "Donny Donkey! Listen! Blitzy Ox threw something at you! You should kick him with your strong hind legs!"

Then, Tammy Titi Monkey would swing to another branch and yell out, "Roger Parrot, You'll never guess who's been taking the food! It was Jeff the Lemur the whole time! Can you believe it? I saw him do so with my beady monkey eyes!"

Fights would break out among the animals. The noise coming from the zoo started to scared away all of the people who were there to visit them. Complaints were filed among the zoo patrons saying, "The animals were out of control, unruly, and looked unhealthy and miserable too!"

Tammy Titi loved her little manipulation game!

 It kept her monkey brain busy as a bee to set traps, snares, and stir up strife among her fellow animal neighbors.

Tammy thought, "if I can't steal their food, I'll steal their happiness, crush their confidence, and make them think they are going crazy! Maybe they will be put to sleep forever by the mean Zoo Vet, Dr. Rooin. Dr. Rooin would never catch me anyway, so I have nothing to worry about! After all, I'm the smartest, quickest, and most cunning animal at the zoo. "

Trevor Snake was Tammy Titi's only friend. He understood what it was like to be cunning, clever, and quick! Trevor believed in survival of the fittest. Still,  he had to crawl on his belly as his only means of transportation... which is lame.

Back to the story... (throat clearing sound)

Where did Castor the Leopard go in this story?

Do you remember that leopards are the stealthiest of all the zoo creatures? I know I do.

Castor Leopard was perched at the top of the tallest tree, nestled in the thickest of branches, watching everything. Castor Leopard knew everything that Tammy Titi had been doing.

Castor Leopard knew that Opper Tuneti would eventually come back to give them their food. "This time," said Castor, "Tammy Titi won't get away with it!"  

Zookeeper Opper Tuneti woke up from His long snooze with an alarming thought, "Oh no! What have I done? The animals depend on Me and I have let them down! I've offered them so much over the years and they've begun to lose faith in Me. Now, I have slept through feeding time and I must give them more than I ever have before, including the delicious treats I made earlier! I will make them happier than I ever have before!"

He gathered a whole barrel full of treats and food, perfect for each of the animals, and began his long walk to the habitat feeding area.

Tammy Titi Monkey was taking a nap. After her prolonged poop throwing, shrieking insults, and false claims,  she was pretty tuckered out. It's rare for a Titi Monkey to take a nap. But she had really outdone herself, feeling proud of herself for hoarding all the food that Opper Tuneti had given the animals over the last several weeks.

Tammy Titi slept on the food, most of which was rotted by now.

What a terrible little monkey to have starved all the other animals from Opper Tuneti's special treats! Shame, shame, shame on you Tammy Titi!

Castor Leopard took this opportunity to talk to the other animals. Castor leapt from branch to branch, landing with the grace of a gazelle as to not scare the other animals, some of whom could be skittish if they were frightened.

"Jeff Lemur, Roger Parrot, Maxine Gorilla, Donny Donkey, Blitzy Ox, and Trevor... Trevor? Where's Trevor Snake?" Maxine Gorilla mumbled under her breath, "snaking around on his belly somewhere I'm sure..."  Castor forcefully spoke, "My friends, you are all hungry. I know that. You are all tired, I know that too. Please, do not blame Opper Tuneti for this. He is not to blame. He has given us plenty. He gives us what we need. He will be as steady as the rising sun. "

Roger the Parrot squawked, "Opper Tuneti doesn't come for a Parrot like me anymore. I'm an old parrot. It's too late for me to eat Opper Tuneti's treats because I have lost all hope. It is best if He never comes back. Perhaps then I can fly away. If he does come back and I have gone, there will be more food for everyone else."

Castor said, "Don't be retarded Roger. None of us eat f-ing bird seed. Stupid. Just listen to me! I know something that you guys don't know. I've been watching from a higher vantage point this entire time."

Jeff the Lemur squeaked out a sigh and said, "I'm a lesser primate. Opper Tuneti knows that. That's why I'm going to die of starvation." Donny Donkey brayed loudly, "I'm fine. I'm fine. I found some rocks to eat. I'm fine. I can make my own Opper Tuneti treats myself out of these rocks!"

Castor Leopard was getting frustrated and said, "Donny, ugh... You can't eat rocks and pretend they are anything like Opper Tuneti's treats! You'll get a sour stomach! Besides, how can you bray so with a sour stomach? ...Jeff Parrot, just stop. You are everyone's favorite so just stop whining. You are far more of an adorable primate than Tammy Titi."

All the animals gasped at the blunt statement of Castor Leopard. Shocked by this sudden distaste for Tammy Titi Monkey, they began to defend her.  "Tammy  has our best interest at heart. She's smarter and more clever than any of us. She looks out from the tree tops to make sure we know when Opper Tuneti comes."

Maxine Gorilla slowly raised up and said, "My friends, I am the oldest of you and I have seen Opper Tuneti come and go, many times. I think our friend Castor Leopard may have something important to say, and we should listen to the leopard for once."

Castor Leopard, composed, said, "I am a leopard. I can hide in plain sight. I can bring the largest of you up to the tops of the trees to eat you if I wanted to and I haven't. I've been hungry enough to eat all of you and I haven't. I waited. I hid in plain sight. I watched. I know where Opper Tuneti's treats have gone. Some have been eaten, but only the ones belonging to Tammy Titi Monkey. The fights  with each other were not caused by hunger. They were constructed by Tammy Titi Monkey! She was  throwing her poop at you from her perch! She intends to make certain that none of you eat of Opper Tuneti's bounty! What's worse is she wants you to  destroy one another or  even more horrible of a thought...She wants you all to be put down by Doctor Rooin! If you don't believe me, just wait until Opper Tuneti comes back. I have a plan that will fix this for good so that everyone, including Tammy Titi Monkey, will get what they deserve."

The animals were confused and in denial about what Castor had claimed. Some of them were so heartbroken they sobbed.  They could only focus on their hunger and how hopeless they were becoming.

 Tammy Titi Monkey was still resting peacefully in the trees with her snake friend Trevor in tow. Their bellies were full, as they peacefully slept, content with their terrible acts. They knew that Opper Tuneti would come back soon with a bountiful spread that they could take once more.

Castor Leopard quietly climbed up to their resting place in the tree. Castor tied all of the hoarded food given by Opper Tuneti to a trip wire system attached to Tammy Titi's tail. If successful, the line will drop all of the week's of rotted stolen treats to the ground.   When Tammy Titi comes down to take Opper Tuneti's treats from the rest of the group, the stolen plunder will come along with her. Even ol' Trevor Snake will come tumbling down, if Castor plays the cards right.

Whistling was heard coming through the pathway, "Hey there my sweet babies! I love you so much and I'm so sorry I missed  your feeding time today. I have an extra special surprise for you all!"

The animals saw Opper Tuneti coming with a barrel and a bag of special treats and delicious foods.

They were squawking, braying, mooing and squeaking with excitement!  "Today is the best day. Opper Tuneti brought us more than we can imagine! This is the best day ever." Their mouth's slobbery with drool, they were so happy to be readying themselves for a feast they will never forget.

Opper Tuneti empties the barrels and bags of scrumptious treats into their food bowls and troughs. He is singing and whistling, taking great joy in feeding his animals their favorite and most perfect things...

Trevor Snake woke up and nudged Tammy TiTi saying, "sssssTammy, the other's are feasting and we are sleeping? Look at Opper Tuneti'ssss smiles and laughter, glee and charm. He must love them more than usssssssssss..... "  Tammy Titi Monkey shrieked, "Opper Tuneti is mine! Mine and mine alone! I'm the smartest, quickest and most intelligent of these low level mammals! Pah! They cannot possibly deserve ANY of Opper Tuneti's treats or attention! It's MINE!!!!! MINE!!!! MINE!"

Tammy Titi Monkey leapt. And with a single long winding bound, down and down, she crashed. CRASH! Plop, Plop, Plop, CRASH! Pounds of hay, watermelon, bird seed, bananas, sugar cubes, steak, leeks and lettuce came tumbling down with her.  CRASH! PLOP! BOOM! BANG!

The animals all looked on in horror! They were gasping, braying, squeaking and moaning.  They said, "Tammy Titi? Why would you? Why did you? How could you?"

Tammy Titi Monkey and Trevor Snake were maniacally trying to gather up what remained of their hoarded mess by shoving it into their mouths, their fists, and dropping most of it as they ran or slithered. They were struggling to get back up the tree. Not even the most meager portions of Opper Tuneti's treats, they continued to climb.

All of a sudden with a bounding roar came Castor Leopard, down, down, down the tree to meet Tammy and Trevor face to face, greeting them with a fierce growl. Scared and broken, Tammy and Trevor dropped the remaining stolen items. Shivering with fear they said,  "Please don't hurt us. Please. We didn't know that these treats were for everyone. We thought they were for the most clever of creatures. We didn't know, we didn't know, we didn't know! Here, you can have Opper Tuneti's treats! Take all you want! Please! Just don't eat us!"

Castor rummaged through the pile, never breaking eye contact with the pair. Castor found the steaks within the rubbish of rotted treats and turned back up the tree saying, "I only wanted what was intended for me, Tammy Titi. Titi Monkey's can't eat steak and leopards can't eat bananas. You should be intelligent enough to know this, and yet, you take what isn't yours and what you can't even use. You are a wasteful and greedy little monkey. You lack in your heart compassion for others. Animals who are far bigger than you will ever be. And you, Trevor, you slithering snake! You shed your skin wherever you see fit!  You are just a snake. A lowly slithering snake, taking what the monkey see's fit to give you. Self interested, you don't share either!  Well now we know her dirty little monkey secret! You would rather have everyone put down by Dr. Rooin than to share your Opper Tuneti Treats?"

Opper Tuneti saw all of this and felt sad inside.

After all, he had always given equal parts of his famous Opper Tuneti treats to each of the animals big and small. Opper Tuneti decided that day to make Tammy Titi Monkey her own enclosure that would be far away from the rest of the animals. He would make sure she had her fair share of His treats, but would never again allow her access to any of the other animal's Opper Tuneti Treats.

Opper Tuneti is fair and kind. A good animal knows that He will come each day with something special just for them. A good animal knows that there will always be plenty of Opper Tuneti....treats.

 As far as ol' Tammy Titi is concerned...

I guess she'll have to see what it's like to live off of what Opper Tuneti seems fit to give her each day. That's a big hard lesson for a little ol' Titi Monkey.

Castor Leopard and his friend's still hear the shrieking and hissing each night coming from Tammy and Trevor's cage.

They sit around and eat their Opper Tuneti's Treats together, always giving thanks for the special thought that goes into each treat He gives them. From the Leopard to the Donkey, the Parrot to the Ox, each one is visited by hundreds of zoo patrons who appreciate them for the animals they were born to be. I hear that by next year, they will all have bigger and better habitats thanks to good ol' Opper Tuneti.

So remember kids... don't be a greedy piece of shit like Tammy Titi Monkey or a self-righteous prick like Trevor Snake.

The End.