THE YAMMER MOURNS THE DEATH OF SUDAN THE WHITE RHINO

As much I’d like to blame the end of the white rhino species on Walter Palmer, idiot dentist and lion killer, I cannot. Other idiots are to blame.

Sudan
Sudan was 45 years old

Sudan was the last of his kind. Schlepped from northern Africa to a Czech zoo, he eventually made his way back to a conservancy that cared for him until his death yesterday from the effects of old age. He is survived by a daughter and granddaughter.

 

 

assholes
Unidentified a*sholes hoping to join The Club

Scientists hope to keep his species alive through in vitro, and kudos to science for trying. But the point that should not be lost in all of this is that there are still hoomans out there who think that powdered rhino horn will stiffen their softer parts, keep bad jube jube away, and buy their way into an exalted secret club that mere mortals like we are neither impressed with nor give a shit about.

 

walter with lion
Walt and man friend bond over carcass

Walter Palmer goes down in history as one of the larger tools in the shed. It wasn’t enough to pay 50 large to the tour operator, he also sanctioned the use of an elephant carcass (another protected species) to lure a tagged and tamed beast to its death.

Mea culpa, Walter hooted under questioning “I didn’t know.”

Walter went on to shoot Cecil the lion from the comfort and safety of a tree stand leaving

walter getting hunted
Walt, unsmiling, avoids fans

us at The Yammer to wonder how he endured the flies and stink brought about by the dead elephant.

Walt missed the kill spot, and 12 hours later, his crew managed to finish the beast off.

 

I guess Walter missed the lesson on First Nation’s lore about how every animal taken is taken with reverence and one true shot.

Does it matter if Sudan’s relatives were taken with one true shot?

Nope.

What’s gone is gone. If there’s good to come out of this travesty it’s that the idiots who rely on powdered rhino horn will eventually be gone too. How can a bunch of flaccid clubbies survive otherwise?

Shit. I forgot. There are still black rhinos out there.

For The Daily Yammer, I am pissed off

A.B. Funkhauser

(Watch Netflix’ ZOO and feel better)

the rhino

March 21, 2018

Read:

https://www.reuters.com/article/us-kenya-rhino/worlds-last-male-northern-white-rhino-dies-idUSKBN1GW0IT

See:

zoo

https://www.netflix.com/ca/title/80011206

The scribe’s links:

Amazon Author Page:  https://www.amazon.com/A.B.-Funkhauser/e/B00WMRK4Q4

Website:  https://abfunkhauser.com/

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/iamfunkhauser

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/heuerlostandfound/

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/funkhausera/

Publisher:  http://www.solsticepublishing.com

 

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ON THE FLOOR AT A KUMBAYA

It’s been years since I attended a large gathering of the faithful, and like any outsider I IMG_20180319_194139walked through the doors of the Toronto Congress Centre with a wobbly uncertainty. I felt goddamned ashamed. After decades of self-improvement, I still felt like that kid on the playground, the one that doesn’t look right and probably never will.

Maybe it was my blue suede high-heeled cowboy boots that held me back. Somewhere in my feckless psyche, I had decided on my birthday that half-century feet sautéing in Uggs could be teased back.

IMG_20180319_195047I mopped my sloppy brow. Now measuring in at 5’11,” I remembered that I’d forgotten to take my hormone pill before I left the house. I dreaded the shvitz that would surely come.

A Doug Ford campaign staffer with fabulous accessories and terrific elocution skills approached with a tablet to steer me in the direction of Registration. There, my name, email address, postal code and degree of commitment was recorded digitally.

Fantastic! With what would amount to a crowd of anywhere between 1500 to 2000 IMG_20180319_191908depending on who you asked, this campaign would lead off strong with busy hands in every sphere.

I remember when we did this on paper and by rotary dial telephone alone!

To say that Doug Ford’s candidacy for Premier of Ontario is well-organized is not to gloss it. I saw it with my own eyes. From the jammed media riser to the wet bars in every corner, everything and everyone was in its proper place waiting for the man of the hour.

IMG_20180319_194744For American readers, let me tell you that Doug Ford is not new to the scene. He has had his fingers in politics and business for years, not unlike his predecessor, who was very ceremoniously dumped for social and possible financial wrong-doing just weeks ago.

That Doug’s team hit the ground, boots on, just days after his election as party leader speaks volumes to how badly they want it. But who was there to give it to them?

Bloggers and op edders agree that Doug is a menace. He’s privileged. He’s wealthy. He’s IMG_20180319_194803pale-faced. And he’s a dude. Who in their right mind outside of the faithful would vote for him? And wouldn’t the faithful look exactly like him?

Breaking a sweat under the bright lights, I retreated with aching feet to the shadows to get a better look.

Seems the Ford people don’t all look like him. In fact, I noted as many Benz and Audi in the parking lot as half-ton pick-ups. Nobody wore fur, and nobody carried truncheons. And nobody seemed to be overly concerned about my lack of Ford decoration, as if they knew that everyone there, press included, would behave, and would give the man of the hour a chance to speak.

The platform party was pleasingly representative of Ontario’s diversity—people with youth, people with age, people with history, people with enthusiasm.  More like them filled the hall. They are believers.

As the candidate mounted the platform, he was taken up in embrace by the three female candidates he defeated at the convention. Swearing solidarity, they are also promising to stick around, stick their necks out and actually run. I can’t fault anybody for having the courage to do that.

Mr. Ford spoke for about ten minutes and about the only thing I can remember is that “we are in a mess” and he will “clean up the mess.” If that’s what his communications director wanted to get across, congrats. It worked.

IMG_20180319_191849I’m on the floor now, my heels telling me that it is time. From this vantage, I can only see shoes—Dockers, Skechers, Vans, Steve Madden, Nine West—and some stroller wheels. What I don’t see are a rush of youthful feet, what we used to call (and what is probably still called) the Wedge, young Progressive Conservative Youth rushing the stage enthusiastically with lollipop signs. About the youngest I see here are late twenties but mostly early thirties, the new twenty. They cheer, they clap, but they are also composed and earnest.

I also do not see or, more correctly from the floor, “hear” the hecklers. Not even one. Do throne speechthey only appear on-line or do they reserve their right to free speech for those in power? I guess I’ll find out when I visit the Preem, who’s currently busy answering questions about the Throne Speech.

The party is over, and Doug has left the stage. I’m still on the ground with my sore feet. I’m in a terrible mess. What shall I do?

I don’t have to wait long. A nice chap from Ford Nation offers a hand. He picks me up.

For The Daily Yammer, I am

A.B. Funkhauser

Conscientious Observer

campaign hat

March 20, 2018

Amazon Author Page:  https://www.amazon.com/A.B.-Funkhauser/e/B00WMRK4Q4

Website:  https://abfunkhauser.com/

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/iamfunkhauser

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/heuerlostandfound/

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/funkhausera/

Publisher:  http://www.solsticepublishing.com

 

CHANNELING HUNTER S., I MAKE READY FOR A POLITICAL RALLY

hunter with gunBack in 1972, gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson penned a collection of intentionally hilarious articles for Rolling Stone magazine. Drug addled, boozy and preternaturally gun-happy, he heroically skewered jingoism, nepotism, scare-the-hell-out-of-you ism and out-right hippocrisyism (not a real word) while covering the presidential campaign.

Dr. Thompson seems an unlikely chronicler in hunter with smoketoday’s political and social climate. His steadfast commitment to not falling into line would infuriate many and drive supporters underground. Yet, I cannot help but feel an extraneous kinship with journalism’s most unity rally posterfamous 20th Century lunatic.

As I put a toe out the door later today, I will steel myself bravely. I am about to experience Doug Ford’s Come One Come All Unity Rally. Armed only with an ancient Blackberry Passport, I will carry with me that lightness that comes with ignorance, fascination and a feline curiosity.

Since his political party famously dumped its leader for allegedly having sex, forcing sex,patrick brown threatening sex or not having sex but trolling for it in a hopeful way, Doug Ford has been labeled a bombast, buffoon, drug dealer and idiot.

The kind of dude Hunter would have loved to cover.

I’m going in today with eyes blank and brain empty, all without aid of booze or drugs. What I’m seeking is truth. The kind of truth that you get first hand.

Stay tuned.

From the campaign trail,

I am,

A.B. Funkhauser, conscientious observer

campaign hat

March 19, 2018

Amazon Author Page:  https://www.amazon.com/A.B.-Funkhauser/e/B00WMRK4Q4

Website:  https://abfunkhauser.com/

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/iamfunkhauser

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/heuerlostandfound/

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/funkhausera/

Publisher:  http://www.solsticepublishing.com

SATC DIDN’T AGE WELL, AND I DON’T MIND

SATC posterONE OF THE JOYS of Winter Break is that I get to holiday too! While the kids hang out, I order take out and rewatch one of my favorite guilty pleasures, the now out-dated and outrageously politically incorrect Sex and the City.

SATC turned me on to sky high heels back in the day. They shoes and sockswere great fun and I could actually run in them! But life intervened and Uggs moved in.

My trek down memory lane brought it all back, and as I struggled to retrain my feet back into these beauties, I wondered what the show’s principals were up to now.

Turns out they’re up to a lot–new shows, clothing lines, charitable works–and all no thanks to the mountains of criticism heaped against them. Who can know for sure if they snipe at one another behind the scenes. The only impact a feud could have would be on future SATC project development, and those who saw and cared about the re-boot of Gilmore Girls knows that digging up the bones and reanimating the body isn’t always a great idea.

Which brings me to the stuff being hurtled at the actors. Apparently, they got–shiver me timbers–O-L-D, an unforgivable offense given that wrinkle creams, Juviderm, Botox and microlifts are supposed to work.

satc BANNER

I can relate. I have, on occasion, used the #FloorSelfieFaceLift with great results, but it doesn’t prevent another birthday.

Critics be damned. I love SATC the second time around. It’s good, stupid fun. And that’s what holidays are all about.

Happy Winter Break, everyone!

Adult, unapologetic and wholly cognizant,

I am,

A. B. Funkhauser

cheek puffing.jpg

 

Amazon Author Page:  https://www.amazon.com/A.B.-Funkhauser/e/B00WMRK4Q4

Website:  https://abfunkhauser.com/

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/iamfunkhauser

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/heuerlostandfound/

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/funkhausera/

Publisher:  http://www.solsticepublishing.com

From Humor to Horror: The Mortician and Her Charge

A. B. Funkhauser, Author

A fellow scribbler recently asked if I’d thought about working in other genres, and I had to take a moment before answering. After a couple of slugs of coffee, here’s what I said: Anything’s possible, but do YOU consciously sit down and say “I’m going to write a romance today?”

It’s true that we have an idea about what we want on the page after a few false starts and a meme or two. But if you’re like me, you give your characters a wide berth and let them do the driving.

The tale of halting mortician Enid Krause and her charge, the badly decomposed Jurgen Heuer (read “Heuer” as in “lawyer”) for me was a platform from which to launch some stories about what it’s like to be a funeral director in the space of a few precious days. The minutae, the stuff we as directors take for granted…

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