“are we having fun yet?”

I’ve been trying to figure out – if I get to be 100 – how I would describe these daze of trump&gang to the young naifs that live in the debris of the collapse of civilization, an event that some of us have come to sarcastically call: the Punch Line.

After I explain to them what a shaggy-dog story is [ a long, rambling story or joke, typically one that is amusing only because it is absurdly inconsequential or pointless. ], I ask them, in looking at their lives, whether or not they observe that the Divine Mystery has a sense of humor.
As I do this, I generally like to share a few twinkies, all from back in the day. Perfectly preserved sugar cakes.
I had, in point of fact, made a killing (as we used to say), borrowing money to take over some vacated real estate, putting bars on the windows, serious locks on the doors, and a state of the art protection system that sent stuff instantly to my cell.
For these storage warehouses, I bought cases of the following three products, tons in fact, and stored them in my “safe places”: toilet paper, tampons, and twinkies. Money you could share, or use.

Life on the Earth turned upside-down – given that every what’s it that exists, has a core of immorality as its nature – meaning that we are ourselves gods&goddesses who are the authors of their own shaggy dog tails … then as this became more obvious via the increase of “gifted” people, no way to pretend anymore.
The bum going through your high quality trash was likely to know how to curse with immediate effect, sudden boils on the nose a favorite …
It also didn’t hurt that I was a certified (over the internet) shaman (I have a diploma), and actually did know real magic, … not so much to disrespect another’s will, but to help the many folks that were manifesting powers-instinctive understand and discipline themselves, which arose from the joke that came as the races began to understand that inter-marriage was the means to have children who were psychically gifted.
My seed was highly desired, a matter whose expression I recognized as the means of a long and pampered life of near infinite variety.
Still, … for a time religious zealots liked to stone young witches, a means that might have worked some millenia ago, until some of these kids were able to make the stones reverse direction, with the same force, and choose (you had to know how to talk to the stone and some fairies as well) to direct it “return to sender”.
The ancients had called these daze “the war of all against all”, mostly because seers and gurus tend to prize seriousness, and warn of dangers, forgetting how much silly fun comes from a “good” prank. No need to bring pain, but as public shaming grew its wings, elaborate “counting coup” via a joke became one of the highest arts.
To much seriousness makes us prone to need to have our balloon popped, often with nothing more effective than a sharp wit.
The Joker is Real, and while he comes out of us when we first start to surrender to the freedom of the wild within, destruction and violence are ultimately boring. Like a child fascinated with its feces, who makes art on the wall next to his crib, the world is open to what lies beyond even the imagination … and folly and stupidity are always returned to sender.
Mom’s Rules.