Category Archives: Ryne Hancock

Ryne Hancock: The Son, the Estranged Mother & the Hurricane

Imagine this for a second.

Hours after you have a small glimmer of hope with your power, only to see that extinguished because a transformer blew out five minutes later, you’re once again forced to take your laptop and cell phone to your friend’s art gallery in the Quarter to charge, a practice that you’ve been repeating for the last six days.

Your legs and entire body feels sore as shit due to the constant biking for wi-fi, charging stations, and food. You’ve had to sleep on the porch of your building a couple of days at night because of no electricity. You have a neighbor that is a complete doofus that has driven you crazy for the last week and you’re praying to every higher power for electricity.

After milling about for a few hours in the Quarter, you return to your neighborhood and make a stop at the library. You’re not paying attention to your cell phone or notifications while you bike, just the road. Once you sit down and log into the wi-fi at the library, you pull out your phone and check your notifications. A Facebook notification about a comment from a video you posted on August 28th appears from a longtime friend of your mom, a person that basically watched you grow up. You don’t think anything about the notification or even the comment, you’re focused on the now.

Then you read it. It’s your estranged mom, who watched a video that you posted from a week ago, prior to the landfall of Ida, about why you didn’t evacuate. Instead of being understanding about why, you’re cursed out.

“Your ass didn’t want to come home,” she wrote. ‘

Granted, I didn’t help matters by saying at the end of the video I knew where my true family was, which some took as shade towards the city of Memphis and relatives, but the fact that I chose to ride out a hurricane and not evacuate to Memphis over dealing with a mom I hadn’t spoken to in six years, speaks volumes.

Not to mention that the fact that the first communication in six years is a rebuke about a video in which I laid out my reasons for staying instead of seeing how I was doing.

That was the upsetting part.

If you have the energy to say things like that in a comment section about a video, then you could have used said friend’s account to check on how I was doing.

In times of crisis, people’s true colors show up. Sometimes for good and sometimes for bad.

What happened on Saturday showed my mom’s true colors.

For the worst.

Ryne Hancock: Do The Right Thing, Cleveland

Towards the end of June, I was a guest of a local rapper by the name of E.D. Nix, who was celebrating the release of his brand-new album “Blvck Economics”.

Midway through the rooftop party, I looked off in the direction of Municipal Auditorium, a hulking white elephant that is located in the Treme, one of the oldest black neighborhoods in the United States. The more I took in the view from the 925 Common building, I thought about the ancestors that paved the way for us to have a rooftop party to celebrate black excellence.

As soon as local comedian Mark Caesar finished speaking, I took to the mic and gave a small speech.

“We are standing here on the shoulders of those who came before us,” I said, “Our paths to this point in time was created by the footprints of our ancestors.”

Less than two weeks after that rooftop party speech, I told that same story to Jay Banks, who represents the New Orleans City Council district I live in, on my podcast.

“Each day that I go to work,” he told me during our conversation, “I know I’m standing on the shoulders of those who came before me.”

In the black community, respecting our elders is something that is ingrained in us from birth. That’s not to say to blindly agree with everything our elders do or say but respect the work they put in to put us as a community into a better position.

In the case of the primary race between Nina Turner and Shontel Brown, it’s a battle of a chaos agent against a rising star in the Democratic Party in the state of Ohio.

Despite the fact I believe in a lot of the stuff Nina Turner says (as I did with Bernie), I feel that constantly operating from a point of rage as well not finding a middle ground much less knowing how to compromise is something that would turn me off as a voter.

Not to mention the fact that the rallies, save for that Dr. Cornel West character that shows up out of hibernation every four or five years, look as unseasoned and bland as a cookout in a lily-white Chicago suburb when the congressional district that Nina wants to represent is 53% black.

It’s as if Nina wants to basically cut off the noses of black voters because in her mind, they’re the establishment and what’s wrong with the Democratic Party.

With Shontel Brown, you see a positive vibe and a reasonable message that can attract the main voting base of the Democratic Party; older black voters and of course, black women.

It’s why Brown, not Turner, earned the blessings of elders like Joyce Beatty and Jim Clyburn.

In the eyes of Clyburn and Beatty, they see themselves in Brown. They know she’s going to continue their legacy in Washington.

That being said, Cleveland, do the right thing. Vote for someone that isn’t going to Washington to be some chaos agent and give bulletin board material for the GOP.

Vote Shontel.

Ryne Hancock: The Tool Is There

Ryne is frustrated with people who will not get vaccinated. His ire is targeted at Louisiana but it applies to the rest of the South. There’s a resurgence of COVID and there’s a simple solution. Get jabbed.


The Tool Is There by Ryne Hancock

“The ones that cry most are usually the reason for the tears.”

That was something my friend Dee said to me on Twitter on Friday when I said the same people that were mad about no tailgates and parades in Louisiana are now angry about Coronavirus cases going up in the state, something that, as opposed to last year, is preventable with the availability of the vaccine.

If you took away Orleans and Jefferson parishes, only one other parish out of the 64 in this state has over 50% of its residents fully vaccinated, which would be West Feliciana, which I believe is the first rural-like parish to crack that threshold.

And while that’s good news, attached to the fact half of the adult population in the state has at least one dose of that sweet vaccine, it doesn’t change the fact that this state, despite everything our governor and health officials, are being jackasses about not getting the vaccine.

That’s right, I used the term “jackass”, because as opposed to January where everyone was wary about getting the vaccine, myself included, there should be no excuse whatsoever for anyone to get the vaccine now.

If you’re not getting the vaccine now, you’re not only putting your own health in jeopardy, but your family and your friends. You’re going to be the main one angry that you can’t go to football games and tailgates. You’re going to be the main one calling John Bel a snowflake because he decided to bring back restrictions (which I’m not a fan of, but whatever works) because to you he trampled on your personal freedoms.

“No one’s going to make me get a vaccine,” you say.

When in actuality, when you had to go to school you had to get your mumps, measles, and rubella shots.

That’s why you don’t hear about mumps, rubella, and measles, or even polio, which hasn’t been relevant or in the conversation since DePaul basketball was nationally relevant.

Because we have tools that eradicated those diseases, a tool that is available to everyone, my generation doesn’t have to worry about polio or being in an iron lung.

But those same people that had to get those types of shots when they were kids are now skeptic of a vaccine that has been peer reviewed, researched, and gone through trial runs. They’re quicker to listen to the person at the barbershop who believes that the vaccine is another Tuskegee Experiment than a person with actual medical qualifications.

If you ask me, their listening to the jackasses at the barbershops tells me one thing and one thing only.

They’re choosing death.

Ryne Hancock: Choose Joy, Not Temper Tantrums

Ryne in repose.

Imagine for one second, you’re at a long-anticipated party with friends. The drinks are flowing, the vibes are good, and the music is on point. Everyone is having a good time and forgetting the problems of the real world.

Midway through the party, a brave soul walks in. Dressed like one of those annoying hipsters in the Bywater area of New Orleans, they start to loudly complain about everything. And while everyone around them is trying to hold their tongue by not saying anything or even acknowledging their asinine concerns, a few people let their feelings be known to the said brave soul. In turn the brave soul goes home and goes on social media to comment on how mean the people at the party were to them.

In other words, they decide to play victim instead of looking in the mirror at their own behaviors. They become defensive and believe everyone is mean to them for no reason when in reality, their track record is there for everyone to see.

They don’t seem to have a sense of reality and expect everyone to be miserable like them.

Back in 2016, I was close to being a member of the Democratic Socialists of America chapter in New Orleans. I was of the impression that maybe going the typical corporate Democrat route, which is what Hillary Clinton represented to me, wasn’t the way we needed to go.

That was, until I saw the true colors of not only the DSA, but their lord and savior Bernie Sanders.

Anytime I have to squint hard and look for a person that looks like me in a group photo, your whole movement is trash and I automatically ignore everything that you have to say.

So, I dismissed them and became a Clinton supporter.

The same thing happened last year when I roundly criticized Bernie Sanders, going as far as writing on Facebook about how Bernie and the DSA had a black people problem, which got me a lot of hate mail from leftist loon jobs.

“You must be some Trump supporter,” was what someone wrote me in a message.

Another message from someone on Facebook went as far as accusing me of being anti-Semitic because I said Bernie Sanders was always full blown angry.

After a while, I realized that there was no point getting through to a bunch of spoiled trust fund kids that were stuck on stupid.

Fast forward to now, where those same spoiled brats in DSA and Rose Twitter are sharpening their knives and criticizing Joe Biden.

That’s not to say that Biden is exempt from criticism. He’s the president and he should be held accountable for what he does.

But when you sit on social media all day and complain about how everything in the world sucks and then get mad when people call you out on your shit, it makes me hard to feign any type of sympathy for you.

The reason why your lord and savior Bernie Sanders isn’t in office today is because of black people, the demographic that your corner of the twitterscape is afraid of. The demographic that you view as low-information and in need of a savior.

The reason why your podcasts and YouTube channels are dwindling in viewers and listeners is because you can’t find any joy whatsoever in anything. You can’t have a moment of brevity because it would make your grift useless. People don’t want to hear a person complain about how bad the world is all the time. They want brevity. They want joy.

You don’t seem to get that.

In closing, keep having your temper tantrums and irrelevant podcasts.

While you’re whining, I and the majority of this country gonna choose joy.

Ryne Hancock: Hope Is A Winding Road, But It Comes Eventually

My friend Ryne had a bad year even by 2020 standards. He’s feeling and doing much better now as you can tell from his latest post.

Hope Is A Winding Road, But It Comes Eventually by Ryne Hancock

Apart from my biking to deliver food, last spring wasn’t filled with festivals and social bike rides.

It didn’t include trivia nights at Tracey’s, open mics around the city, late nights at Igor’s, or being behind a mic at a radio station.

My socialization last spring was limited to the customers I had with my day job as well as the dumbass neighbors I had in my complex. The more time went on and the amount of tragedy piled up on my plate, the less hopeful I felt about the remainder of the year.

In a four-week span, from the time New Orleans went on lockdown to mid-April, I lost five relatives, all to this dreaded disease, including one of my favorite uncles, who had an encyclopedic knowledge of baseball.

“He just went in the hospital and didn’t come out,” my aunt told me on the phone.

To make matters worse, instead of being able to fully communicate how I felt with my friends or find refuge in being at the WTUL studios, I had to deal with the people in my complex. The day my uncle was buried, I went off on one of my neighbors when we discussed the former occupant of the White House’s handling of the pandemic.

“What do you want him to do?” my neighbor asked me.

“Give a damn,” I replied.

“But we’re getting stimulus checks,” my neighbor retorted.

“I don’t want to hear any more about that. I’ve lost five relatives in a month’s time and the last thing I want to hear is something about a damn stimulus check.”

Safe to say I didn’t interact much afterwards with my neighbors. There was the occasional dart game here and there, but whatever joy I wanted to find in those games got snuffed away because people either got too rowdy or someone had a fight, which in turn made me feel even more isolated from my neighbors as the year progressed.

To make matters worse, one of my neighbors assumed that I was on meds for whatever reason, which made me retreat even more. A lot of times when I would return home from work, I’d just go inside and fall asleep, something that I would do when I lived in Memphis.

That was my life mostly for almost a year.

The day before Biden got inaugurated, some leftist dude said that nothing was going to change with him in office.

“Have you not seen the last four years?” I asked him.

For the first time in a year there’s actual hope. Instead of doom and gloom posts, you’re seeing people talk about plans for their summer and vaccine selfies.

You know, hopeful things.

Think about what would have happened if that orange dolt were still in office.

I guarantee you we wouldn’t be discussing hopeful things.



Ryne Hancock: The Fallacies Of Our Crushes

My friend Ryne Hancock’s first post of 2021 strikes a wistful tone. For the non-New Orleanians out there, Broadmoor is an Uptown neighborhood.


The Fallacies Of Our Crushes by Ryne Hancock

In a few days, my friend Cait in Broadmoor will be turning 42.

Despite the fact that we are still in a pandemic, her birthday will include dinner, gifts from her kids and husband as well as well-wishes from friends and family for another trip around the sun.

During that same week in January of 1979, one of my first celeb crushes, Aaliyah, was born. If my memory serves correctly, according to Cait, she and Aaliyah were born two days apart.

As a wide-eyed sixth-grader, I dreamed of marrying Aaliyah. Apart from her looks, she was an honor roll student (she was valedictorian of her Detroit high school senior class) and seemed to be on the surface the type of girl you could actually take home to your mom.

Once I entered high school, Aaliyah had gone from teen prodigy to a superstar on the rise. Not only was she doing music, but she was appearing in movies such as “Romeo Must Die” with Jet Li.

Then it happened.

On August 25, 2001, Aaliyah was killed in a plane crash, dead at 22.

Unlike my friend Cait, Aaliyah never got the chance to experience marriage or motherhood. She never had the chance to mentor young ladies like KeKe Palmer (could you imagine the two of them on a podcast?), write books, and get her flowers.

In a few months, we’ll be celebrating 20 years without her on this planet, which means many of us have experienced a world without her presence almost as many years as she gave us her presence.

And it still hurts.

Guest Post: The Price Of Reading The Room Is Free

My friend Ryne Hancock is back. He brings his feud with what used to be called “limousine liberals” to First Draft. They’re the same people Athenae calls purity ponies. In this instance, they’re mostly white middle to upper middle class post-Katrina transplants who live in downtown New Orleans. Their elitism bugs the living shit out of Ryne who is a young Black man from Memphis, Tennessee.

It’s time for me to step aside and present Ryne’s  righteous rant.


The Price Of Reading The Room Is Free by Ryne Hancock

For months, one of the people that lived in my complex was a cougar that arrived from the Florida Panhandle. Tan and somewhat attractive, I figured she would be a cool person to be neighbors with, as opposed to the old black guy that constantly talks to himself in my building.

Instead it was anything but.

From the moment she arrived she complained about everything. In fact, when the hotels were filled with evacuees from Lake Charles, she complained about their attitudes.

There was also the time she got a job working at Tulane University and immediately demanded that she get better hours three weeks into getting the job.

The powers that be at the university then rewarded her with a 5 pm-2 am shift.

This line of thinking could be applied to people like the Justice Democrats and Sunshine Movement.

Much like my former neighbor, they use all their energy to complain when things don’t go their way, especially when all throughout the process they refused to get on board with endorsing Biden as well as run purity tests on everyone that didn’t conform to their beliefs.

They’re that relative who complains about you serving Chek soft drinks instead of Coca Cola. That relative who gets mad with people drinking Miller Lite and not craft beers.

“Oh you’re not drinking craft beer? How very poor of you!!!”

Criticize their God and Savior Bernie Sanders and the DSA, whose local chapter is basically 80% of the comedy community in New Orleans, and you get a lot of terms such as “sellout” & “corporate democrat” hurled your way.

And god help you if you criticize AOC, which if we’re being real, is basically every annoying gentrifier in the Maringy or Bywater, you’re labeled as a racist or even worse, a misogynist.

That’s the whole sum of the Justice Democrats and Sunshine Movement.

Instead of reading the room and picking justified fights (translation: the GOP) they’re taking credit for delivering the White House to Biden and managing to shitcan on Biden.

“We voted for you so do our bidding,” they’re screaming from the mountaintops.

First, you didn’t do shit. Your little performative progressive movement shitcanned on Biden & Kamala. And when it became apparent, he was going to be the nominee, you became brave by saying “Settle For Biden”.

Secondly, black women, the most loyal base in the Democratic Party, delivered the White House to Biden, not a bunch of latte-sipping performative allies that are focused more on making headlines than actually picking justifiable fights.

And lastly, if it weren’t for your movement, Mississippi would have been governed by Jim Hood. Alabama would have been governed by Walt Maddox. Florida could have had Andrew Gillium as governor.

But because of your movement and the buzzwords that come with it, those states have shoddy executive leadership.

Don’t get me wrong, the Democratic Party does need some fixing. It’s not perfect.

But the constant shitcanning a party that you allegedly belong to is not going to help your movement or this country in the long run.

Guest Post: Ryne Hancock On Elections Past & Present

Guest blogger Ryne Hancock tells us how he spent Election Night in 2016. It was in a club in New Orleans with a bunch of comedians. The evening was anything but funny.


Don’t Let “They” & Complacency Win by Ryne Hancock

Long before Chris Trew’s creepy behavior sank him and his comedy club on St. Claude, a group of local comedians, including myself, gathered to watch the results of the 2016 election.

Adding to the intrigue was the fact that we were celebrating Kaitlin Marone’s appearance on the ballot for United States Senate, something that was commemorated with a sign from Jessica Hong that read “We Didn’t Do It!!!!”

From the onset, I figured that the sign was about Marone’s campaign (as I recall she got over 4,000 votes) and not the presidential election. Like most of everyone and their dog, I figured Clinton would eke out a narrow victory in the electoral college with maybe 280 or so votes and we wouldn’t have to be annoyed by that orange turd.

Then shit happened.

What was supposed to be a celebration became a tragic day for democracy. Instead of electing the most qualified person ever to the highest office in the land, this country decided to elect a dribbling idiot.

You can sift through all the reasons why the orange idiot won, most notably the bullshit about both candidates being the same or the fact that the most qualified candidate ever didn’t represent true white womanhood, but the facts remain bare for all to see.

We as a country got too comfortable with the fact that the 2016 election was in the bag.

This time around, we can’t get tired.

We can’t get complacent.

It’s just like what I told a friend of mine that owns a business on Magazine Street.

“They want you to be tired. They want you to give up. Don’t fucking get tired. It’s weary now but morning will come. It eventually comes.”

That’s my message to you guys that haven’t voted yet.

Don’t let “they” win.

Because that’s what “they” want.

Stay in line, mail your ballots, run the fucking score up to fight for the soul of this country.

Because in the end, the morning comes.

And my lord, what a morning it will be.

Guest Post: The All-Time, No-World Series Starting Nine

Tommy T is on the mend and still not quite up to doing that voodoo that he does so well.

For the second consecutive week, we have a guest post by Ryne Hancock. This time, he’s talking baseball.


The All-Time, No-World Series Starting Nine by Ryne Hancock

One thing my friend Peter and I bond over is our love of baseball history (in fact I had floated around the idea of a podcast that focused on baseball history before the Great Pause). Despite the fact that I’m a diehard Cardinals fan and the fact that Peter’s Giants have beaten us three times in the postseason in my lifetime, we can both say that we’ve seen our teams reach the Fall Classic in our lifetimes.

With baseball playoffs in high gear, I thought about a starting nine of players that never saw their talents showcased in the Fall Classic. While I’m pretty certain that you, the reader, have different opinions on who should be on this list, I encourage you to leave comments in the comment section on who I left off.

 OF Dale Murphy:  Sandwiched between Hank Aaron & Chipper Jones, Dale Murphy was the only reason why most people during the 1980’s gave a damn about the Braves. In 15 years with the Braves, Murphy won two MVPs and led the Braves to the 1982 NL West title, where they would lose to the Cardinals in the NLCS. After that season, the Braves would have one more winning season during his time in Atlanta, an 88-win season in 1983. Despite the fact that he put up numbers that were Hall of Fame worthy, Murphy’s name isn’t etched in the annals among the immortals in Cooperstown.

OF Ken Griffey Jr. The greatest tragedy in baseball history was not the Indians choking away a 3-1 lead to the Chicago Cubs and extending the misery of the Cub fans, but kids of a certain generation never got to see Ken Griffey belt a home run with that sweet swing or rob someone of a home run in the World Series. The closest Griffey ever got to the Fall Classic was in 1995, when they beat the vaunted Yankees (more on one of their players later on) to reach the ALCS. Another postseason appearance followed two years later that ended in the ALDS with the Mariners, which would be the last one for Griffey until 2008 when he played on the White Sox.

I thought about that the other day when I was watching a softball game at the Fly when I had a conversation with a 14-year-old kid about Mike Trout and how the Angels were wasting his prime.

“Kid, when I was your age,” I told him, “we didn’t see Griffey in the World Series. You’re getting that with Trout”.

OF Vlad Guerrero: There were a bunch of names that stood out for me for the rightfield position. Of the four names I had (Andre Dawson, Vlad Guerrero, Sammy Sosa, Juan Gonzalez) the one that stuck out for me was Vlad Guerrero.

Of all the players I grew up watching, no one hit the ball more violently than Guerrero, especially balls that were out of the strike zone. Despite all the success the Angels had during that time, with five division titles in six years, Guerrero could never reach the Fall Classic.

3B Ron Santo: Kids of a certain generation in Chicago saw the primes of Gale Sayers, Dick Butkus, Ernie Banks, & the third baseman on this team, Ron Santo, squandered like an Atlanta Falcons lead in the Super Bowl.

A key cog in the Cubs’ resurgence in the 1960’s, Santo didn’t get a chance to sniff a winning season until 1967, when the Cubs finished third behind my Cardinals, who of course won the World Series that year. In 1969, the first year of divisional play, the Cubs looked primed to reach the playoffs and possibly the World Series when thanks to the managerial malpractice of Leo Durocher and the fact that Wrigley didn’t have night games, the Cubs squandered an eight-game lead in the new National League East to the New York Mets.

The Cubs wouldn’t reach the playoffs until 1984.

SS Ernie Banks: When the Cubs won four years ago, the first person that came to my mind was Ernie Banks. In 1958 & 59 Banks won the National League MVP when the Cubs finished fifth and seventh, respectively. It wasn’t until his 11th season in which the Cubs had a winning record, when the Cubs finished 82-80.

Banks had to deal with not only racism, but also an eccentric owner that was more focused on the ballpark than fielding a competent team. He saw the dregs of a pennant race late in his career, but never got a chance to see the Fall Classic.

Just think how things would have been had he had a competent front office.

2B Ryne Sandberg: Despite my fandom for the Cardinals, I was named for Ryne Sandberg. Long before Sosa made his sojourn to the North Side, Sandberg was the face of the Cubs. Fifteen years after their collapse in 1969, the Cubs reached the playoffs for the first time since 1945 when they won the National League East. Another trip would follow in 1989 as they won the division by six games over the New York Mets.

Unfortunately, those two trips would be the closest Sandberg would get to the Fall Classic. In 1984, the Cubs would blow a 2-1 lead to the Padres and five years later, the Giants behind the bat of Will Clark would derail pennant hopes for the Cubs.

1B Don Mattingly: Similar to Dale Murphy in Atlanta, Mattingly was the gap between Reggie Jackson and Derek Jeter. Despite putting up solid numbers during his time in the Bronx, Mattingly could never showcase his talents in the World Series. Many baseball scholars suggest that had the 1994 strike not happened, the Yankees would have probably made the postseason.

P Jim Bunning: Lost in the shuffle of great pitchers in the 1960’s and long before he became a quack politician, Jim Bunning was one of the best pitchers in baseball. In a 17-year career, most notably with the Tigers and the Phillies, Bunning led the American League in wins once and strikeouts three times. During his time in Detroit, Bunning got close to the World Series once, playing on the 1961 team that won 101 games and finished second behind the Yankees. In Philadelphia, he played on the 1964 team that collapsed down the stretch and lost the pennant to the Cardinals.

C Joe Mauer: In a perfect world Joe Mauer is like Kent Hrbek, a local kid who made good by playing for the local baseball team and won two world championships.

Despite being the face of the Twins for over a decade, Mauer didn’t have the same luck in the postseason as Hrbek. In five trips to the postseason, Mauer never won a postseason series.

Guest Post: Hard Sympathy

Good morning. Tommy T is on the disabled list with a serious health problem. It is not, however, caused by reading the Freepers so we don’t have to. Here’s hoping our beloved friend and colleague gets well soon. That’s as mushy as I get, y’all.

Today’s guest blogger is my young friend Ryne Hancock. He’s the guy who inspired my Bad Karma post last week, which led to his first First Draft shout-out. I also owe him because his bike was stolen in front of my house a few years ago. Sorry about that.

Ryne is a native Memphian who moved to New Orleans right before the 10th Katrinaversary. Don’t worry, he’s not a carpetblogger. He’s done a little bit of everything since he arrived in New Orleans but what he does best is tell stories.



Hard Sympathy by Ryne Hancock

For three years, I had to deal with the ups and downs of having a crackhead for a landlord on Washington Avenue in Central City.

During the first two years I lived on Washington Avenue, things were pretty calm. Mainly because my landlord was in Mississippi for six months and I didn’t have to deal with extras from “Tales From the Crypt” knocking on the door all times of the night looking for him.

However, around the end of Mardi Gras 2019, my landlord told me that he was headed to some rehab in Jefferson Parish. I found the timing odd because it was the first of the month, which was when he got his lump sum (as well as my rent money) from Social Security.

That was when I learned that he owed money to damn near everyone in the neighborhood and was looking for a way to abandon his responsibilities.

The same night the Blues clinched their first Stanley Cup Finals appearance in 49 years, I received a call from my landlord, who was hiding at someone’s house on Seventh Street near Dryades.

Because of a phone conversation I had with someone, I was being evicted. Not because of late rent or my habits as a tenant, but a phone conversation. To my landlord, rent money was a sign of loyalty and the context of my phone conversation to him was an act of betrayal.

A couple of weeks later, while I was in bed at my friend’s house in the Bywater, my former landlord called me from a South Carolina number.

“Hey man,” he told me, “all my stuff got stolen in Alabama.”

After I hung up with him, I thought to myself, this guy wanted me gone two weeks prior and owed everyone money. Now he wants me to help him.

You hate to see people suffering, but it’s hard to conjure any type of sympathy for a person that did a lot of people wrong.

That same line of thinking applies for Donald Trump.

Despite the fact that Trump will go down as the worst president in American history, which means James Buchanan & Herbert Hoover are off the hook, it’s a shame that he has this deadly disease. Nobody should have to suffer through that.

But when you for starters, downplayed the seriousness of this disease and said that it was just like the flu, you indirectly signed the death certificate of over 200,000 people. 200,000 people that needlessly died. Sure, there was a travel ban, but that was as useless as those thin cable bike locks.

There was no type of pandemic education or anything that could help save lives because you decided to decimate the pandemic response team.

Ya know, the people that you needed in your corner?

Apart from the countless things that you’ve bungled during this pandemic, you had a man die after one of your rallies from the covid. But because he was black you didn’t even attempt to send your condolences or even acknowledge him at the Republican National Convention.

To you, Herman Cain was collateral damage, an ugly sofa that was in your way in the living room. If you had something that is known as compassion, you would have stepped back and stopped doing large scale rallies. You could have held virtual fundraisers, socially distanced outdoor rallies, things that slow the spread of this disease.

In other words, an example for our country like my bartender crush at my office on Magazine Street was an example for customers.

But you didn’t do that.

You took a cavalier approach to this pandemic, which for the most part most of your cult and party went along with.

Instead of turning the corner as you publicly said time and time again, the actions of your cult and yours for that matter has made things worse.

As I write this, the number of people dead is more than the population of Jackson, Mississippi (pop:173,514), Evansville, Indiana (117,429), & Clarksville, Tennessee (132,929).

The amount of dead could fill two Tiger Stadiums, six Wrigley Fields, and about eight or nine Fenway Parks.

It’s a shame that you and your cronies have this disease. I don’t wish ill on you or anyone for that matter.

But feigning sympathy for you?


It is what it is.

That’s my attitude towards you because you decided to be a knucklehead. That you decided to not listen to science and people who know a whole lot more than you.

I would hope that this would humble you.

But knowing you, you won’t change. It’s just not in you.