BiteMe

For the simple, BiteMe is my nickname for our new President, Joseph Robinette Biden Jr. I can sort of understand a woman returning to her pimp. The first five years of leaving the life suck. Your whole support system and network of relationships that enabled the life are gone. You have nothing. No job, no home, no friends, no family, and no face. Ours is a material culture. We evaluate face based on who your family is, what you own and who you know. Lose all that and you are nothing.

We didn’t even do that. We left our summer romance with a John for the Pimp Daddy’s bag man–BiteMe. It’s worse than the above paragraph. We went from a John who thought he loved us and we loved him because he had all the things we thought would make us happy to a senile old man who owed everything to our pimp and turns out, also has nothing. Talk about stupid moves. . .

Bag Man

BiteMe is Obama’s bag man. Everything he has came from our Pimp Daddy Obama. So BiteMe doesn’t have any of what he promises. It gets better. BiteMe is a whore whose ass is tattooed with 習近平’s name. Xi Jinping owns BiteMe and a good number of the elites in Washington D.C. Most of our government debt is loans we borrowed from 中國. The big three oligarchy’s, Apple, Google, and Facebook/Twitter are huge clients of 中國. Their culture is a westernized Chinese Communism. It shouldn’t be surprising that BiteMe slips sometimes and we get a glimpse of how deeply Maoist he is.

BiteMe is who we left because the John was being mean to us. The John wanted us to come to Jesus. Our PimpDaddy abused us and we were tired of the work so we fantasized that Donald J. Trump was Richard Gere and we were Julia Roberts. That went well.

Abuse Cycle Bite Me

Again again

It is a sadly too oft-repeated story. An abused woman plots and executes her escape. She does all the right things and spends a half-year recovering from an abusive relationship. Then the abuser contacts her, apologizes, and promises to turn over a new leaf. He says he loves her and that nobody can love her like he does. She melts and goes back to him only to find that the abuse is escalated after a honeymoon period in which he keeps most of his promises to participate in couples therapy and anger management training.

Everyone in the woman’s circle of influence is amazed that she can’t see what a complete ass-hat the man is. He’s got a record, did time, most of it for violent crimes including domestic battery. Yet she loves him and stays in the relationship through repeated cycles of escalating abuse. Even though some victims have kids with their abusers. Actually, having children with this fucker just gives him more victims.

Why go back to BiteMe? I mean, he’s not even our Pimp Daddy. He’s a bitch himself so like, how can he really do anything? Here is the mistake the John made and that we made—we thought we wanted Hope and Change but once we left our PimpDaddy we found out that Change isn’t so Hopeful. John wanted us to behave like a Long Island wife and we were trailer trash. He liked Russian caviar and we liked collard greens. His Spotify featured Nirvana and ours was full of Luke Bryan, Garth Brooks, and Toby Keith. At parties, the women talked about their favorite white wine while we asked around for a “Sex in the Woods”. Seriously.

Oh. OH! Church! The John wanted us to go to church. And not even a church with good music. No, he wanted us to go to Old South Haven Presbyterian Church. Twice annoying because Old South Haven is a PCUSA temple to Woke Faith and old AF.

Country Girl in Long Island

It’s one thing to be getting paid to wear Daisy Dukes, cowboy boots and pigtails while sounding like single wide trash from the Delta. Or arrive in a long gown and ballet flats with a Brooklyn accent. But as much as the John wanted to teach us the Queen’s English and have us shop on Fifth Avenue we were still trailer trash and liked our whiskey sours. He took us out of the trailer but the trailer never really left us.

We got into this huge argument with the John because he caught us sitting on his Italian leather couch with a bucket of chicken from Chicken Au GoGo including a side of cole-slaw. He didn’t care about the greasy fingerprints we left. He was mad because we didn’t order take-out from Caviar Russe. Chicken Au GoGo was too lowbrow for him. Yeah . . . uhm . . . there is bougie we can tolerate and then there is bourgeois that is fighting words JOHN.

Jimmy Choos people. Yes, the Pimp Daddy beat us into the hospital and never paid us. Sure, PimpDaddy had babies all over DC and owed child-support to a gaggle of baby-mamas. But PimpDaddy let us shop on his card and never questioned what we bought. Just bring him money and hide the bruises. We loved him. We wanted to go back to him. Why not? He left four years ago to go play golf in Palm Springs and reconnect with his wife. He went legit on us. Asshole.

Just Listen

Then BiteMe hits us up and is all ears and sympathetic. He apologizes for the times he beat us because we didn’t have Pimp Daddy’s money. He confesses that Pimp Daddy beat him too and so he is also a victim. He’s sweet to us, buying us a silver plate pendant from Solid Gold Jewelers. He took us to Golden Corral for breakfast. Tho . . . his debit card didn’t go through at Golden Corral so we paid 😒. So we get with him.

We are in the post-coital bliss, America. We took a beating and heard sweet words of apology, promises of money and promises that we don’t need to be afraid anymore. So we broke up with the John and hooked up with Pimp Daddy’s bag man BiteMe. BiteMe says he always loved us and hated that we had to work for Pimp Daddy. He promises he’ll treat us better than that evil man John. And for now, we are good with that.

Some things to keep in mind. Abuse is a frog-in-the-pot thing. Most of the abuse cycle isn’t bad. We can keep telling ourselves that the abuse won’t happen again through most of it. Then it happens again and it’s rinse/repeat. Also, abusers like to isolate us–gaslight us. It’s a long game where a little bit at a time s/he tells us that the only safe place is in the house with him or her. We are accused of cheating, of contacting the outside world. We get a beating anytime we hint at viewpoints that drift from the opinion of our abuser. And it just grinds at us because each repeat is a little worse.

Memories

Another thing–victims remember the abuse. They also remember the increasing peace they experienced when they fled the abuser. Third, and importantly for this essay, some abusers escalate far enough that even though we escaped with a plan and have started a new life, the abuser hunts us down, saying, “if I can’t have you then nobody can. Come home or I will kill you.”

Fourth. Addiction is often mixed up in this. Addiction has a half-life. Early on it’s great but soon enough the entropy ensues. Once we turn that entropic corner things only get worse. Ahead of us are familiar paths of jail, hospital, rehab, and the morgue. Abuse is like that. It only escalates into worsening abuse, hospital, attempts to escape, and for some, the morgue.

BiteMe just got us back. He says the abuse is John’s fault. With him, things will be better. And we want to believe him but we remember the beatings.

BiteMe Dystopia

This is Not the End

This is who we elected. A bag man whose greatest ambition is to collect money for a Pimp Daddy who has retired. His old extortion accounts are refusing to pay. Quite the contrary, they are calling in his debts and he has to pay. He took us to !Fantastic Thrift! to buy clothes and again, his card didn’t go through.

Ahead of us is more blame, that it’s our fault Bag Man BiteMe is in the trouble he’s in. And more beatings. And more isolation because we are accused of stepping out (we didn’t but it doesn’t matter).

We are broke (kind of), homeless, destitute. Now, those familiar with Step Work know that rock bottom is the worst and the best. It’s the worst because our lives are as near death as can be without actual flat-lining. It’s also the best because this is the turning point where we start working toward a clean and sober, healthy life.

I’d like to say that we are at rock bottom. We are not. One of the really ugly things about abuse is that it teaches us to pick abusive partners. Pimp Daddy left us and BiteMe claims he’s not that asshole. We thought we loved John but he’s all Long Island snooty. So what we want most of all is our Snuggie®, chamomile tea and to binge-watch “Sleeping With Other People” on Netflix. We moved in with BiteMe because he has a really nice couch and a big TV.

It’s too early to tell if we made the right move. What’s worrying is that BiteMe’s friends don’t like us and keep posting to his Twitter that we are trouble. Maybe. Mostly we are tired and hungry and don’t want to be Julia Roberts anymore.

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Fear

I wrote a post I titled, “Anxiety“. I wanted to be done with it. I am not done with it. I am not over it. Fear touches me in two ways lately. My son, who I don’t usually write about, suffers from anxiety that causes depression for him. This is actual for him. There isn’t a “just get over it” for him. When he gets knocked by life it takes him out. Recovery is never sure and can take months. It hurts and no amount of tough love will move the ball for him. Yeah, he is a millennial, something of a snowflake. The angst is no less powerful for him.

That’s one. The other is the intense tantrum the press is having now that HRH Pimp Daddy US has left the building. Their king, their god, their bhodisatva, did the horrible thing and let Cheeto Satan move in. It’s the end of the world as we know it. A bajillion women worldwide marched and carried protest signs and sang and spoke of wanting to burn down the White House. The *White* House. Shouldn’t it be something else, maybe the 1600 House or something. I mean, seriously, “white” House. Isn’t that racist somehow? All that strom and drang and what of it? Not so much.

I have a question for all those who are trying to learn to contort themselves so that ass and lips can meet. Who is your lord and king? Who is your Daddy? You knew this would end. Pimp Daddy US said so. Is that it? Is that who you worship? A dear leader who committed a venial sin and simply walked away from being the most powerful man on earth? You are that simple, that empty, that you worship a pimp? No wonder you are a mess.

This was going to end. It has to. It’s been a century of diddling about with socialism, either more or less of it. Every election cycle the offers of mo money came and went. Every election cycle we found out that the offered mo money was more money for our pimp, not for us. Instead of less tricks it was more. When we tried to object we got hurt.

The Soviet Union collapsed. Spain’s flirtation with anarchy fell into authoritarian socialism and after some bloodshed, came around to democracy as the least evil way to run a society. China is a mix of places. Where the party still dominates it is a shithole. Where capitalism has infested places like Hong Kong, Shenzhen, and Shanghai these places have exploded in wealth and disparity. We are at a generational turning point where the old guard of the last century is dying and losing elections. Sorry to say it, baby-girl, but this is the beginning of something impossible to avoid.

It’s one of the freakish things about abusive relationships. The victim keeps going back and the abuse keeps escalating. The cycle is well known. Obama was an abuser. Sorry, that’s what his term in office felt like to me. He spoke sweet words, said a lot, but his outcomes hurt us. Each time he would promise to treat us better, do some therapy, be a better pimp, and beat our ass back into the hospital. All the while making sure that we were out in public looking fine as fuck.

After all that, and now that he is gone, we somehow forgot the abuse and want him back. If we can’t have him then we want his bitch-in-chief, Billary. None of what we said in the hospital to the social worker means shit now. Jimmy Choo’s y’know. He took our Jimmy Choo’s with him. We want our pimp back.

The press is doubling down on the propaganda of Pimp Daddy US. They insist that Pimp Daddy US’ story was accurate. It was one of fear, of an unspoken fist in our stomach if we got out of line. Pimp Daddy never hit us in the face or above the neckline. Nobody ever saw the scars. We had to bring him his money, after all. The scars are there. Our John’s saw them.

Now that we don’t have Pimp Daddy we don’t know how to live. Self reliance? What is that? We haven’t shopped for ourselves in Walmart in 8 years. The people who shop at Walmart are missing teeth and can’t speak proper English. You want that for us? We always went to Nordstrom to the personal shopper desk with Pimp Daddy’s card. He always ordered in from a stack of takeout menus. We got thick but he said he liked it.

He’s gone. We went to the doctor and doc says we are diabetic, have high blood, are ?!obese!? and could die if we don’t quit living this way. The HIV test was negative but doc wants to test us again in 6 months. Our pimp daddy god-king left us to go on vacation in Palm Springs. How could he?

Yes, self-reliance. change the things you can, let go of the things you can’t, and pray for the wisdom to know the difference. Nothing changes if nothing changes. We who spent time in meetings have a bunch of these. Change who you worship. Get a new god-king because the one in Washington D.C. dates “models” who turn up on porn sites. Melania is just a high-class mail order bride. Think what you will of the last 2,000 years of idiot followers of that martyred Nazarene carpenter. I’ll put my martyred carpenter up against Cheeto Satan Melanic Dumpf all day. We try to use foundation to cover the bruises but we are not so different from you.

Who would you give your fealty to? A magic brown man who didn’t care enough to shoot Cheeto Satan? Cheeto Satan himself? How about . . . that dead guy the Romans killed whose followers claim is still alive and conduct a cannibalistic ritual meal of his blood and flesh? Is fealty to him, to the Nazarene carpenter any less insane, less absurd than fealty to a rich John with a taste for expensive whores?

In an insane age, in an age where the dominant language is imagery and video, the image of the crucified Christ remains powerful and good. The cross makes sense in this bonkers shit show we were born into. Cheeto Satan will do whatever. The teeth knashing over his latest crime against socialism will continue until he leaves office.

For eight years I deepened my marriage to the cross. I prayerfully sought ways to serve my neighbor, my kin, and my enemies. I have been blessed to be granted chances to do small acts of kindness, sometimes with love, sometimes not. That doesn’t change because Pimp Daddy US is out of office and playing golf until winter break is over and his daughters have to come back to school. Cheeto Satan is just a side show as it concerns the practice of my faith.

Last year some protesters stood across the freeway and stopped traffic for half an hour. They wanted us to care about black people, to understand that black lives matter. Not more than a mile from their protest is public housing where numerous churches and NGO’s are working to get the residents out of there and into stable lives. It is hard, frustrating work that goes largely unnoticed. It is stunning to me that a dozen people would block traffic and claim that black lives don’t matter in complete ignorance of the work under way in Richmond’s public housing. This says a lot about the protest community.

Cheeto Satan? Whatever. Some of what he’s doing was going to happen either by intent or by disaster. Pimp Daddy built a house of cards that was going to collapse anyway. At least Cheeto Satan wants to take it down card by card rather than just let it collapse.


I’ll end here. If fear is a powerful force in your life then you have surrendered to a false-god. You worship a lie. God made you fearfully to love him more dearly. He loves you and wants you to thrive. There is no such thing as courage. Courage is what we say about someone who was terrified and did the needful. To conquer fear get a new god, a real god, who is love. The threat to Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego was not myth or an empty one. The miracle would be less amazing if it were not as the bible tells it. Yet these three men were willing to die for their faith. They risked death and found freedom. That’s an awesome god, way better than Pimp Daddy or Cheeto Satan.

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