The Gonzo Journals

March 31st, 2023

You know, there’s mornings when I wake up and have no idea what I’m going to rant about today. Luckily/Unluckily, there is social media to help me along. One quick dive down my Facebook newsfeed and I’m usually good to go. Oh, the triggers that exist just a few swipes away…

Once upon a time, I had a dog named Karma. She was a Border Collie and the runt of the litter. Absolutely beautiful, but my ex-wife and I got duped from the start. Not only had this dog been abused at the hands of the owner’s young daughter, but the owner lied about their AKC affiliation and never produced the dog’s papers. Trust me, we paid money to get a registered Border Collie, and they never came through. As a matter of fact, they changed their phone number and moved before we could do anything about it.

This was the most skittish puppy I’d ever owned. Any loud noise would cause her to squat and piss instantly. Any stranger who would enter our home would be subjected to her herding instincts and be bitten if they made any sudden moves. It was soon discovered that she had major allergies and chewed all the hair off her own ass. My ex-wife was a vet tech in between bouts of seeking workplace fuck friends and we tried everything to make her stop. Nothing worked (the dog biting her own ass, not my ex-wife seeking workplace fuck friends). A few years later, the dog had no front teeth from gnawing on her own posterior. To top it all off, she got hit by a car and lost the use of one of her back legs. Karma indeed. I haven’t seen the dog or the ex-wife in almost seven years. I heard she died. The dog, not the ex-wife. I’ve heard different things about her, but we’ll save that for a later rant.

Cool side memory: I trained that dog to bark like crazy whenever I’d say the word “Trump”. This was before he got elected president. I managed to record it on video, and it pops up once a year on my Facebook memories feed. Epic.

This morning, while perusing my Facebook feed, I noticed one of my oldest friends has been diagnosed with cancer and she’s reaching out for financial assistance. This really hurts my heart because I used to love this person like a sister. Like the dog, I haven’t seen this person in at least seven years because I no longer fit into the puzzle identified as my former life. That doesn’t mean I can’t have good memories associated with it.

I won’t call names because I’m not looking to embarrass her. She dated my younger brother and selected members of his crew while we were in high school. Eventually, after she moved from his crew to mine, we became close friends. We went to the movies one night – Alien 3. Ack! – and she tried to kiss me on the way home. I declined the offer. Can you believe that shit? I declined! She was beautiful, funny, and a catch in my book, yet I denied her. I mean, I was already in a relationship with another cheating twat waffle, and I wasn’t the type of guy to return the favor. Also, I loved my friend and didn’t want to ruin what we had together by introducing convenient sexual encounters into our friendship. In hindsight, maybe I should’ve. Maybe it could’ve saved her from a lifetime of missteps.

Cool side memory: She came over to my grandmother’s house with me one night and we began throwing things at one another – as friends do. She reached into a pot of mashed potatoes my grandmother was making for dinner, threw them, missed me, and hit my grandfather in the face. My grandparents exploded, and we ran for our lives!

Photo by R Khalil on Pexels.com

Now, pay attention. This is where it gets bumpy, and you’ll get lost if you blink. Eventually, she married one of my two best friends, but they divorced because she cheated and got pregnant by another friend. A few years down the road, she attended my Army going away party and hooked up with another friend. They married while I was away, then divorced because she was cheating on him with my other friend aka her first husband. The two of them got remarried and a darkness descended upon my circle. Welcome to Meth-Ville, TX.

As with everyone I’ve ever known within the meth culture, she was slinging pussy as though they’d installed a skeet thrower at the animal shelter. She began to lose her looks and eventually her mind. She divorced again and disappeared for nearly a decade. This is where Karma comes into play. The “get what you asked for” gesture, not the dog.

Whenever I would bump into her at Wal-Mart – the place where meth friends meet – she would try to convince me she was under doctor’s care for cancer rather than being addicted to the glass dick. I would just nod in sympathy and go on about my business. I knew the truth. Hell, Greenville, Texas has almost 40k people living within its borders, but it’s still a small town. Social Media couldn’t even broaden that mentality, but it was a fantastic way to keep track of my old friend from a distance. I didn’t want to appear as though I was stalking her out of sheer interest. Sometimes you just have to stop and watch the fire burn, right?

Photo by Jens Mahnke on Pexels.com

I always said that karma was going to come back and bite her in her ass for stealing the thunder of true cancer sufferers, but I always figured that was just me running my mouth. I do that. A lot.

Eventually, she appeared as though she’d gotten her life back together, was holding a job, and looking less like the methed out Borg Queen from Star Trek First Contact. After my divorce, I hit her up in an attempt to rekindle our friendship. After meeting for dinner, I noticed the only way I could understand her tweaked out gibberish was to record what she was saying and play it back in slow motion. No one ever changes, and she was disguising her continued membership to the crystal rock club from the world who only viewed her through Facebook colored glasses. She tried her best to sleep with me that night. She even went as far as to strip down and lay on the bed next to me without apparel. I declined. Did you read that? I, C. Derick Miller, declined to sleep with a naked woman I loved who was a mere three inches away from me. I don’t even think I popped wood. I have a few standards, but they’re standards, nonetheless.

Ultimately, I was afraid that, if I touched her, it would start a chain reaction of Legend of Zelda proportions bringing on the end of the world as we know it. She’d already screwed and married my two closest friends. I felt like there was some kind of unspoken prophecy which would trigger catastrophic destruction if I managed to reveal the Master Sword in her presence. I didn’t want to be responsible for the apocalypse just because I needed a release. I could’ve done that in the mirror while staring at a more attractive person and not inviting the end of the world to commence in my own bedroom. Denied and embarrassed, she disappeared from my life yet again, and it was definitely for the betterment of mankind. I look back on that moment and vomit ever so slightly into my mouth. A shame, to be sure. She was an amazing, beautiful soul once. The Hunt County Epidemic took hold and never let go.

As of this morning, I can see she got her wish.

Photo by Anna Tarazevich on Pexels.com

I noticed on social media that the three-legged, bare ass dog managed to sneak up and bite her in the ass. She now officially has cancer. Other old friends who either managed to not pick up on all the warning signs or were smoking hot glass in her presence for many years are riling up the masses for any money they can spare. I wish her well but, most of all, I wish it would end. I’ve already borne witness to a gradual decline which began three decades ago. Now? Finality needs to bite the burned, scarred fingers that fed the beast. I’m saddened, yet I offer no sympathy for the situation.

I’ve lost loved ones to cancer, and not once did any of them ever invite the bastard by faking it for attention or to mask a drug addiction. No, they were good people who lived their lives the best they could. They were all cut short by the invisible reaper who awaits us at the tip of every cigarette, the waft of every gas can, and, Hell, every breath of “clean” air we inhale within this polluted world we’ve created for ourselves.

I’ll shed one tear for the friend I lost thirty years ago. Just one. I think she’ll hold the record for the most gradual downfall of anyone I’ve ever known. Thirty years is a long time to die, folks.

Photo by Mike B on Pexels.com

Here is a little poem I wrote a few years ago to describe what happens when you taunt the beast:

The Wolves Are Closing In

I have pondered every ending

I have counted every sin

I have reached my last forever

now the wolves are closing in

I have barred the door behind me

every window locked within

though I know it will not stop them

now the wolves are closing in

My sword is at the ready

and the blood will soon begin

I prepare to close the curtain

now the wolves are closing in

Their eyes, they crave the carnage

as they flee their ancient den

They can taste my fear approaching

now the wolves are closing in

Their teeth aglow with vengeance

as their claws invade my skin

there’s no victory expected

when the wolves are closing in

My breathing becomes shallow

and my essence growing thin

There’s no chance I’ll see tomorrow

for the wolves are closing in

…and the wolves shall always win

If you liked that, I have 99 more in a poetry book titled “Poetic Much Vol. One” on Amazon. Who knows, maybe I can use her tragedy to sell a book or two. I mean, something good has to come out of all this, right? Always look on the bright side of life…

Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as raven’s claws – Jim Morrison



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