Getting Worse Out There

I don’t know if it was a response to my spontaneous plea of "Oh Lord have mercy Jesus, I’m soooo tired!!!" that I sent out into the Universe at Monday’s workout, or if I somehow disconnected from whomever I was channeling, but my energy level was back up and on point Wednesday morning.

I had a good day in the Pain Cave.

Since I was feeling it, I had hoped to put in some miles on the college campus yesterday, but the Santa Ana winds were prohibitive so, instead, it was needlepoint and watching recorded episodes of the exposé on Hugh Hefner — Secrets of Playboy.

Times have changed, we’ve all seen and heard a lot since then about how a celeb’s lecherous private life is hidden behind a fairly wholesome public persona. So, though interesting stuff is now coming out, it’s difficult to be shocked.

My friend Q worked for Playboy back in the day. I don’t recall his job position ─ maybe something to do with the magazine, but he told a funny story about leaving headquarters, headed for his car, and finding one of the bunnies on the ground, flat on her back, stuck under the rear of her VW Beetle.

As I remember the story, her car had been parked on a slope, she’d been leaving work as well, was standing behind the car and somehow the car rolled back, knocked her to the ground, began to roll over her, continue down the incline, but got stopped by her enormous implants.

The visual I got was a pretty little lady, covered in car up to her tatas.

Q is talking about arranging a little get-together. If and when that happens, since he tells the story better than I, I’ll get him to repeat on video and put the story on the blog.

A date took me a couple times to a Playboy Club.

I never saw anything like what the exposé is disclosing about how the bunnies were manhandled but, of course, I wouldn’t have. It was just dinner and a show.

Though the date (someone I knew in high school who was back courting me after my divorce) was trying to impress me that he had a Key — a membership, which is what one needed back then to get into the Playboy Clubs, I don’t recall being impressed.

It was just something to do, somewhere to be taken.

I will say this though, Hugh Hefner didn’t seem to discriminate.

During a period in life where there were very few places I could go and not be refused admittance or stared at for being out-of-place or treated differently, I felt completely comfortable and accepted in the Playboy Club. However, I had more fun when a group of work pals and I went to Chippendale’s one evening.

My buddy Apache was here yesterday. He’d dropped by to celebrate the birthday of D, the assault victim and that of a woman described as "The Little Helpful Lady" in the blog, because she was so helpful when we had activities — helping to set up, clean up, making birthday cakes.

Apache is spending so much time here that management might as well give him his unit back.

Not only is he spending a lot of time HERE, he’s trying to lure some of the residents to THERE — where he is. Wants them to take the shuttle to play bingo at his place since there are no activities here.

It appears he’s taking over as Activity Director as he’ll be back today to shuttle away a couple of residents to karaoke — another activity we used to have here, but no longer.

I’ve not heard of a new hire for the Manager position, but the job opening no longer appears on Corporate’s website.

Time will tell if a No. 9 is on the way and, if so, how long that person will last, but good luck to him/her and us.

Handsome Man is still in his unit, so I guess the fact that No. 8 is no longer here (the Tyrant) made all the difference for his circumstances.

It’s been a lousy Black History Month insofar as Black Lives Matter.

First there was the no-knock warrant murder of Amir Locke.

Then came the attempted murder of D’Monterrio Gibson, who was targeted for Working While Black.

In a case similar to the father/son McMichaels, who murdered Black jogger Ahmaud Arbery, FedEx driver D’Monterrio was chased and shot at by Brandon Case and his father Gregory Case. The Chases thought D’Monterrio looked suspicious while going about his job of delivering packages. Felt he didn’t belong in the neighborhood and I guess, in their minds, the right thing to do was to try to murder him.

Now we have two teens fighting at the mall ─ one White kid, one Black kid.

Guess which of the two was arrested.

When the cops arrived on the scene, the White kid was winning, looked to need no assistance from anyone as he was on top, had the Black kid pinned underneath, was whaling on him. The female cop drags the White kid off top of the Black kid, sits him down on the couch while her partner tackles the Black kid, still on the ground, flips him, puts his knee in his back, pulls out the handcuffs.

After sitting the White kid on the couch, the female cop turns her back on him, runs over to assist her partner in arresting the Black kid.

WTF!!!!!!!!

Adding insult to injury, while the cops are manhandling the Black Kid, in the full version of the video, you can see the White kid get off the couch, stand behind and over the cops, gleefully yelling the N-word at the Black kid.

We're never gonna catch a break. It's insane.

Ten more days until Black History Month ends. No truce in sight.

Race relations are getting worse, not better.

UPDATE:

Daunte's family is probably upset over the lite sentence, but I ain't mad at this.