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

 

INTRODUCING: THE DAILY YAMMER

Good morning everyone. Lately, it’s been suggested to me that I get a newsletter up and running because 1) it’s a great way to connect with people who might want to pick up what I write, and 2) it forces me to use first person, a device I fervently stay away from in fiction because the “I’s” make me feel self-conscious.

I thought on it, and while the newsletter works very well for writer colleagues of mine, I can’t see myself doing it  because I have Das Blog on WordPress–this wonderful space where I celebrate the publishing journey: yours, mine, everybody’s.

But here’s what I can do. I can spout off daily (or bi-daily or other daily) missives of 500 words plus or minus as the spirit moves me. Content shall be mine.

Welcome, then, to The Daily Yammer, a sub-sid of Das Blog where thoughts are short, commas are few(er), and everything said will be said so with “I”.

First person: this will take getting used to.

Adult, unapologetic and still writing fiction in third person,

I am,

A.B. Funkhauser

Mother, Mortician, Monkey

If you have something to say to me write: a.b.funkhauser@rogers.com

You will be answered. — A.B.

Gonzo