Thomas Wictor

I’ve had a flu relapse. As my Dutch friend said, I have the “fluw,” which I pronounce—Netherlands style—as fluhv. That’s just how I feel. Fluhv. Physically and emotionally, I can’t muster the energy to post, so here’s one my favorite songs by one of my favorite singers, “Twisted” by Stan Ridgway.

Today I came to the belated conclusion that almost all advocates secretly do everything in their power to prevent improvement. There are exceptions. I get messages from Yemenis who tell me that my posts give them hope. Like them, I genuinely want to see improvement in the world.

What happens is that most groups require that if we join, we must allow our values to become twisted. That’s how we end up with “human rights” organizations on the same side as terrorists. Groups and politics twist us.

The best US military acronym is FUBAR, pronounced foobar: “F*cked up Beyond All Recognition.”

Much of the world is FUBAR. People are FUBAR.

Okay, I admit that I used photo-enhancement software to do that, but this is the real face of another Jew-hater.

The smirk of demonic, self-satisfied malevolence.

Some people who read my posts get the wrong idea. Just because I defend one group doesn’t mean I’m antagonistic to another group. I actually don’t like self-identified groups at all. What I’m doing is debunking lies. If I prove that an accusation made against Israelis is a lie, that doesn’t mean that I’m in love with Israel and everything it does.

Similarly, when I debunk lies about Saudi Arabia or the United Arab Emirates, that doesn’t mean I now support everything those nations do. It doesn’t mean I believe that Saudis and Emiratis can do no wrong.

What I write has a specific context: I’m debunking lies. The end. Don’t read anything else into my posts. If you try and twist them to serve your agenda, I’ll call you out on it. If necessary, I’ll embarrass you publicly. I’ll expose you.

My own preference is to not join any group. But that applies to me and only me. If you join a group, it says nothing at all about you, except that you’ve joined a group. I don’t look down on people who are members of a group.

Unless you allow yourself to become twisted in service of the group. If that’s the case, I have nothing but contempt for you. The reason I have contempt is because people like you aren’t happy to just join your group and leave me alone. You have to go after me because I refuse to be one of you. Well, take a wild guess about what that does to my feelings about groups. Does it make me more amenable to joining you, or does it make me resolve to not be like you under any circumstances, even on pain of death?

Stan Ridgway says it the best, so here’s his song “Twisted.” I hope to feel better tomorrow. Lots of great and exciting things are happening. Yemenis will soon be free, Israelis will soon not have to live under siege, and life will get better for good people. There’s no doubt.

You’re twisted. That’s what you are
Just like a bee buzzing in a jar
Frayed and ragged, spent and strained
Watching that water spin down the drain

You think that no one sees you hiding your dirt
And no one sees the spots and stains on your shirt
There’s a big empty room there behind your eyes
When you look in the closet, you’ll find a surprise

What do you do in the middle of the night
When no one sees you there?
Does your head start to shrink and your eyes bug out?
Do you wonder what’s cheating and what’s playing fair?

I bet you’ve got an awful itch
A scratch that you can’t touch
You’re rolling and weaving all over the floor
You’re scrapping and scraping your nails at the door

You’re twisted. That’s what you are
Just like a bee buzzing in a jar
Frayed and ragged, spent and strained
Watching that water spin down the drain

You’re twisted. That’s what you are
Just like a bee buzzing in a jar
Frayed and ragged, spent and strained
Watching that water spin down the drain

Now what do you do in the middle of the night
When no one sees you there?
Does your head start to shrink and your eyes bug out?
Do you wonder what’s cheating and what’s playing fair?

I bet you send out for all your food
I bet you think this that phone call is rude
Your body’s all bent and hairy and warped out of shape
So take this number and call it, ’cause the zoo needs an ape

You’re twisted. That’s what you are
Just like a bee buzzing in a jar
Frayed and ragged, spent and strained
Watching that water spin down the drain

You’re twisted. That’s what you are
Just like a bee buzzing in a jar
Frayed and ragged, spent and strained
Watching that water spin down the drain

You’re twisted. That’s what you are
You’re twisted. That’s what you are
You’re twisted. That’s what you are
You’re twisted
Twisted
Twisted

Update

I planned on an easy, quiet night, but my cats had a different idea. They tore out a window screen and escaped. Once outside, they panicked. I spent three hours recapturing them. Lyle Cat finally surrendered on the front porch, but Brother Cat took to the roof. I had to get a ladder and his carrier.

See, I was smart enough to know that I’d need the carrier to bring my giant, hysterical, claw-equipped feline down the ladder. I chased him down on the roof, popped him in the carrier, and managed to return to earth at my own pace instead of 32 feet per second squared (9.8 meters per second squared). Fifty-three years old, with a high fever and the urge to machine gun every car that roared past and made my cats even crazier, but I got through it.

Tim couldn’t help because the cats are afraid of him. I’m the only one they let approach.

If I hadn’t already had them neutered, I’d take them to the vet tomorrow to get their nuts chopped off. Bastards. They think they want to go outside, and then after they spend all day chiseling away at the screen like they’re in Alcatraz, they decide that they don’t like what they worked so hard to get.

Well, I ordered their new home.

Cozy. They’ll love it.