Category Archives: Humor

Ashton Kutcher, International Hero!

This young man, who was born in Cedar Rapids, Iowa  and made his popular mark in life as an actor in Hollywood,  is calling out

Photo by The Hollywood Reporter

citizens of the world with a moral imperative to stop sexual slavery in this 21st Century. He has invested his time, energy, creativity, passion, and money into this Great Cause for Child Justice.  He leads by example, and courageously uses  language for this crime against humanity in unvarnished specificity.

Mr. Kutcher’s testimony evokes the wisdom of Edmond Burke,

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.

Ashton Kutcher’s Testimony

Kutcher, by unspoken logic, challenges our entire male gender.  The implications are clear.  This complex profit-making criminal enterprise is literally  A  Man-Made Crime.

Do men have the will and fortitude to fight it?

Learn of Kutcher’s work through wearethorn.org, an organization he co-founded with Demi Moore utilizing cutting edge technology to fight international sexual slavery.

Call your Senator and Congressperson and tell her/him to VOTE.

Cover by Faceout Studio

For more information on this issue, read the journalist-super-hero work  of Lydia Cacho, Slavery Inc. – The Untold Story of International Sex Trafficking

Publishers Weekly – Lionhearted Mexican journalist and activist Cacho probes prostitution, pedophilia, and sex trafficking rings across Southeast Asia, South America, and beyond.

Two heroes calling us to action…JK

 

Heading photo of Mr. Kutcher courtesy of Leigh Vogel/Getty Images

Women Rule?! . . . Really?! . . by Jeffery Kirkendall

 

The above Washington Post photo suits my purpose perfectly.

Photo by Evensi
Photo by Evensi

I missed a Women’s March in the early 1980’s. I did not realize the significance of the event until it was over. As best I remember it, I went to class that night at Arizona State University. A more important educational experience  was taking place in the streets of a Phoenix suburb.

While working on my Masters of Counseling Degree, I was a volunteer and four-hour-per-week data analyst at the Center Against Sexual Assault (CASA). I was one of two men working there with a dozen or more women.  It was a job which transformed into a lifetime mission of moral and legal justice for survivors and fatalities of childhood sexual abuse (CSA).

At the time, many of the staff were involved in planning a Take Back the Night march when a nearby mayor did something significantly unenlightened. Two serial rapists were stalking their prey in his community, and the mayor decided to wade in with an executive order. He established a nine-o’clock curfew for women to be off the streets, for their own safety. His timing could not have been more appropriate to the feminist cause. Women came out to march in what was then considered great numbers. I learned about the protest later from my co-workers.

The organizers started the march in the mayor’s community nine o’clock at night. The gathering was comprised of women from all races, religions,  educations, classes, ages, incomes,  gender identifications, and sexual orientations. The peaceful protesters not only united and came out against the female curfew, they demanded a male curfew. After all, who was making the streets dangerous, the women?!

Over the  past three decades, I have learned about cultural and institutional  discrimination and sexual abuses of women. I developed a deep respect and brotherly love for those women. This compassionate army of sisters welcomed me into their world. I have

Photo from Etsy
Photo from Etsy

missed that shared consciousness since my wife passed away three years ago. I still miss Carol, but I am no longer alone with my convictions.

I have discovered recently, at sixty-four years of age, a cadre of dedicated and passionate kindred spirits. I found them in the Ph.D. program at Prescott College, Arizona.

After much time quietly standing back and closely observing our nation’s political season, I have decided it is time for me to declare where I stand. This past weekend I found my political tribe. I do not enter this commitment blindly. I have issues to debate with some of the members.

However, we are confronted with  what I believe may be the bleakest challenges in American history. I believe the most visionary, prophetic, and moral group available to me has been called together in the Women’s March on Washington.

I now join my peaceful warrior sisters, daughters, mothers, grandmothers, and brothers with gratitude and humility.

Photo by the Washington Post
Photo by the Washington Post

I stand with women and men all around the world. That indigenous person in the photo with her raised and closed hand expresses solidarity. She represents me. I am there with her and the rest of those women. I embrace  our cause.

Who will join me?

 

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Javelina Alert!

(a re-post of one of my most popular pieces since the turn of the century. . . JK)

From Apache Wells, Arizona,Javelina with baby

this is the Super-Cyber DJ,

the Doctor of Unusual Views,

the Voice of Great Ideas,

Johnathan B. Goode

with a public service announcement.

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First. Thank you Dennis Liddell for the beautiful Javelina photo.

Friends, I let my garden sprinkler run too long and turned the Hobbit Hole just outside my longhouse door into a silky, smooth chocolate-pudding consistency.

This morning I found pristine Javelina hoof prints that, if fossilized today, would be ecstatically studied by civilizations of future millenniums.

They’re here folks! Wild things!

I know they look alien, but the creatures have been here for eons and come in peace.

Like us two-leggeds, they seek food, water, a little bit of love, and a safe place to raise their offspring.

Let us respect them, not fear them.

Thank you for listening to this alert.

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Now consider this for a moment.

Take a break from the nonsense-noise of life.

Pick out a good book.

Sit on the earth under one of the standingpeople.

Close your eyes.

Listen to the breeze in the trees , , ,

Please.

Recall something for which you are grateful.

Let the feelings linger.

Then open your eyes

and read.

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Until my next Almost Live! cyber-cast, . .

This is J.B. Goode reminding you

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Certainty is the sign of a fool,

but, of course,

I cannot be absolutely sure of that.

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Adios Amoebas!

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Why Donald is Running for Real

This is personal.  Donald’s 2012 candidacy was promotional and fun. His 2016 candidacy is deeply serious, and he will stay in the presidential race until they pry his cold stiff fingers from the microphone.

photo by theurbandaily.com
photo by theurbandaily.com

Donald’s commitment this time around is fueled by humiliation. Indeed, he is a man who personifies, and who inspires a constituency of, “those who get mad and get even.”

His shaming happened at the 2011 White House Correspondents Dinner, nine minutes and thirty seconds into the comedic speech of President Barack Obama.

Donald Trump is here tonight. (audience applause)

Now I know that he’s taken some flack lately, but no one’s happier, no one is prouder to put this birth certificate matter to rest than the Donald and that’s because he can finally get back to focusing on the issues that matter like did we fake the moon landing?  (audience laughter)  What really happened in Roswell?   And where are Biggie and Tupac?

(laughter and applause, camera focused on a staring Trump)

All kidding aside, obviously we all know about your credentials and breadth of experience. For example. No. Seriously, just recently in an episode of Celebrity Apprentice at the steak house, the men’s cooking team did not impress the judges from Omaha Steaks. And there was a lot of blame to go around. But you, Mr. Trump, recognized that the real problem was a lack of leadership.

(camera holding on the staringTrump)

And so ultimately you didn’t blame Little John or Meat Loaf.

(audience laughter)

You fired Gary Busey. And these are the kind of decisions that would keep me up at night

(audience laughter, applause, vocalizing hoots, cheering, harder applause, whistles, tight thin-lips on Trump, woman at his table laughing and looking at him, the Donald’s boyish little wave)

Well handled sir! Well handled.

Say what you will about Mr. Trump, he certainly would bring some change to the White House. See what we’ve got up there.

photo by reddit.com
photo by reddit.com

On the big screen was a picture of the glitzy name TRUMP dominating the White House. Underneath read Hotel * Casino * Golf Course, and under that read Presidential Suite. In the foreground of the White House lawn in a pool with a fountain were two women with drinks.

(more audience laughter)

And the President’s coup de grace?

It came a little more than forty-eight hours later when Donald learned, as did the nation, that the President had ordered and succeeded in the assassination of Osama Bin Laden.

Donald may not be able to conceptualize self-deprecating humor, but he can conceptualize other-deprecating humor.  He experienced something during that two-and-a-half minutes sitting beneath the President, something akin to a public spanking.

photo by whwweb.com
photo by whwweb.com.

Donald will not rest.

This is personal.

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See Donald’s humiliation, click here

A Spiritual Goose

I stepped out on the front porch this morning and heard a wonderful sound. A flock of Flying GooseCanada geese, flying in formation, called out as they passed over my humble Northern-Arizona long-house. I smiled of course. I am always touched and uplifted by wildlife. Somehow they give me hope that the beauty of mother nature will endure beyond mankind’s greed and violence.

I was reminded of an experience five, six years ago about this time of year when I was worried about finances and any number of things. I was driving my vintage Chevy short-bed pickup out the dirt road from Apache Wells to the highway on my way to work. Another Canada flock, maybe some of the recent flock’s relatives, were flying unusually low in the same direction I was driving.

As I took a bend in the washed out rocky road, our paths became much closer and parallel. For that relatively smooth stretch of road we kept pace with each other. I had my window down and leaned my head out to feel wind in my face like a blissful hound dog.  To me, it seemed their honking was just for my benefit. I looked the leader in the eye, and I am sure they were urging me to fly on faithfully into the future.

I also remember a goose encounter in the middle of one of my high school football games. We were under the lights on a near-freezing Friday night and getting ready on defense for our opponent’s next play. That was when my dear friend and team captain for that game, Jim The Hangman, called for the team’s attention. As ten of us all turned in unison and looked, we saw Hangman’s arm in the air and his finger pointed to the sky. The moment freeze-framed for me. The steam from our hard breathing poured through our face masks as we all looked to the night sky on cue. Perhaps the crowd thought we were praying.

The honking was distinct, and our entire team smiled as we recognized what it was. Then us tough guys all laughed at realizing what we were simultaneously sharing in the middle of that game. For that precious moment, we were all country boys tickled by mother nature and our own teenage comaraderie.

Good goose memories.

So today, in spite of all national economic indicators, in spite of all the horrendous world-wide challenges, I have just a bit more optimism and wonder for the days ahead, and I would like to pass some of that along to others.

Let us marvel in a wildlife moment together.Canada goose close up

Here is a little spiritual goose for you.

Honk, honk, honk, honk, . . honk!.
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Respectfully,

Jeffery Kirkendall

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Click here to view some more magical wildlife moments.

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Wild Man – Part 4 – Reflections

bigfoot 5

THE FINAL CHAPTER of Wild Man

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I stand and look into the bathroom mirror and see, really see, the old man I have become. It is not an easy look, but it is what it is. Growing old is not for sissies.

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I find solace in the notion, “It’s not the years, it’s the mileage.” This poor body had three decades of driving too fast on bumpy roads and neglect in changing the oil. I have paid a price for the commitments and sacrifices I made. I can see and feel the costs.

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The big question is “Was it worth it?”

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The answer is, “Yes it was.”

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Let me tell you a story.  Lately I have seen the primitive man from my dream.

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Just the other day I was walking across the Post Office parking lot. In the wall of windows I had a curious moment. I saw an elderly man walking somewhat stooped from lower-back pain, his arms dangling loose and swinging as he walked. From a distance he looked like Bigfoot striding through a mountain meadow, all but waving at the camera.

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It was my reflection of course.

*

As I sit at my desk in silence, the storm rocks my Holiday Rambler with a supernatural rhythm. I find myself reaching, without knowing why, for a journal I made entries in ten years ago. I open and browse thoughts and reminders of a decade ago.

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I wrote . . .

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The good news?

Angels are real.

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The bad news?

They are wildly out-numbered.

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“Not an optimistic day,” I thought as I turned the page.

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Then before my brain cells could hold hands and form the next thought, my left hand nearly slapped my ear off.

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It was that sound I heard while I prayed on the spirit trail in the storm.

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Mosquito was back. And it was in my house.

*

Now this is funny to me, because I am a long-time student of Native, or indigenous, cultures. The ones I am familiar with see nature as a sacred place of beauty, learning, and sustenance. All of life is part of creation and each life has something to teach us.

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The cougar teaches something different than the eagle. The trees, or standing-people, teach us something different than the rivers. The winged-people teach different lessons than the crawling-people. I have had the privilege of knowing some remarkable people walking the Red Road, learning and sharing their lives.

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So what does mosquito have to teach me?

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I searched for information and found an old southeastern Alaskan Tlingit legend. In this story there was, long ago, a giant that found humans to be a tasty food, just loved our blood and organs, hmm, mmm, good!  The hero of the story killed the giant, and to prevent its coming back to life, cut up the giant into tiny pieces. Each of the pieces transformed into a mosquito.

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My apologies to the Tlingit people for the rough summary.

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Clearly not the kind of legend easily put to music.

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I  have two takes on this legend, and I could be way off.  First.  It is a lesson in humility.  It reminds us two-leggeds what it feels like to not be at the top of the food chain, and we ought to keep it in mind when dealing with other creatures.

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Second.  The story tells us that there is a force in the universe that can devour human beings.  Nothing personal.  That is just what this force does.  The only control we have is in helping people stay out of its way and in the manner in which we deal with its aftermath.

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There are a lot of ways to read the story, and it would take a team of tribal elders to understand more of its history and significance. Some of the rewards in legends is in the discussion and learning possibilities.

*

With that search for meaning intention, I decided to take a little time to reflect on that pesky mosquito and see if it has some qualities I could learn from. Here is what I came up with. You can add more.

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Say what you will, mosquito has a very effective voice.

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As small as it is, it can incite instant human response. The instant one hears mosquito near the ear, a part of the human brain kicks in that goes back to our relatives that learned to walk upright. There is something primal and hilarious in knowing that Neanderthals batted mosquitoes the same way you and I do.

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As I reflect on mosquito and my life of writing and telling stories, some comparisons might be made.

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My stories sometimes bite. The narrative sometimes requires a little blood-letting. The messages can sometimes cause a psychological itch that demands to be scratched. The images described may be uncomfortable or provocative, but this  eventually goes away.

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It may be that my writing efforts will be no more popular that the tiny voice of a lone mosquito. And maybe that is not all bad. According to Smithsonian Magazine, scientists report that romantic mosquitoes harmonize their whining wing beats. Hey, for the right mosquitoes, that buzzy whisper in our ears is a seriously hot love song.

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Maybe mosquito reminds us that we each have a love song to sing.

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And maybe we should all be careful about getting slapped.

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I remember learning of an upper-Ohio River tribe that was renowned for being invisible in the forest, a kind of Zen and the art of camouflage, being one with the environment.

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A few weeks later, I prayed to have such an invisibility.  I had a twenty-minute dangerous mission of mercy for a boy and his mother.  It was crowded, no one bumped me, spoke to me, or looked me in the eyes.  As far as I could tell, the prayer worked.  I remember to this day the crunchy, nutty sound of countless empty nine-millimeter shell casings under my footsteps like gravel on a rural road.

*

I have lived a richly weird life, a life of scientific study, learning, failing, moral dilemmas, religions, philosophy, music, literature, writing, singing, suffering, artistry, relationships, loneliness, good works, evil deeds, confrontation, intervention, risk, fear, courage, psychology, epistemology, cultural anthropology, food, dance, travel, law, women, men, saving children, marriage, birth, death, grief, discovery, disgust, enemies, angels, warriors, wimps, rumor-mongers, revenge-seekers,

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and a few . .

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true . . .

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blue

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disciples of good faiths.

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I cannot say if Yeti or Bigfoot exist in what we call the physical world. What I know is that I dreamed of this unusual being and looked into his eyes.  He is a wild man that lives in a remote place in nature, can blend into whatever his natural surroundings, and only reveals himself to people who are open to seeing.

.bigfoot 4

I believe that I know that wild man,

and I shall  continue to embrace him . . .

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for he

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is me.

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* THE END *

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Thank you for reading the four-part Wild Man series.

Feel free to click the Comment button below.

To learn more about the Tlingit people, click here.

Wild Man – Part 2 – Spirit Trail

Spirit Trail.  I arrived at sunset, locked the truck, placed a small flashlight in Setting prairie  sunmy pocket, and hooked my water bottle on my braided leather belt. Across the grasslands Mingus mountain rose up to an imposing cumulus cloud bank.  Lightning crackled and broke the length of the range.

Folklore names the full moon of July the thunder moon, and thunder rolled from the far mountains to the meadow in which I stood.  In the nearly extinguished light, the land trembled.  I could see from the flatland where I stood to the first distant rise in the trail.  That was where it seemed the curtain of storm was drawn across the landscape.

The only lightning in the area was over the mountains miles away. I was drawn to this place on this night, the phase of the moon, and the threatening conditions. I passed through the gate and began my journey.

The lights of the village behind me, the rising full moon before me was totally eclipsed by the thunderheads. I wondered if the batteries would last for the return trip.

I walked as I had become accustomed to walking in the wild lands, by talking out loud to whoever listens in such places.

“What do I do next? I have a landslide list of stuff to do every day.  I have people I love who need help. I have strangers who need help.  How do I do it? Huh? I’m going crazy over here trying to take care of some people’s needs, people suffering for no good reason!  How do I do it?  I need some some direction!”

I calmed a bit as I walked.

“Could you send me a sign?  How about a spirit animal with a message of wisdom and great abundance?  Or a burning bush maybe?”

Having been face-to-face with unexpected  animals in the wild, I had momentary second thoughts, . . especially when recalling the creature from my dreams.  That is what brought me here.  The dream of the wild man crept around the periphery of my thoughts..

To shake off the fears and doubts I moved in to my usual hiking ritual, . . talking myself through the Serenity Prayer. Some times it requires verbal wrestling to get through it.

“Higher Power, God, Goddess, Creator, Great Spirit, Yahweh, whatever Your Name, you know who you are.  You know who I am.  I hope I have my bases covered.”

“Please grant me the serenity to accept the things that I cannot change.”

Walk, walk, think, walk.

“I mean if it works out that you can help me with this, I would be grateful!”

Walk, walk.

“I tend to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders, and my shoulders hurt, and I need a rest.”

Walk, walk, think.

“Also, please grant me the courage to change the things I can change in the world. Yeah a double dose of courage for that. I have learned some things that can help victims of terrible crimes against humanity. Well you know.”

Walk, walk, think, walk.

“It is no surprise to you of course, I want to share what I have learned in a way that helps those innocents who suffer for the sins of others. , etc. etc. You get my drift.  You been there from the beginning!”

“You know sometimes I think nobody wants to hear what I have to say! Can you help with that? If so, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Walk, think, walk, think, walk.

“Also, please help me with the wisdom to know the difference between what I can and cannot change. I don’t want to hit my head against a wall or spin my wheels or waste anybody’s time, most importantly my own.  I am a grandfather! I’m getting old.  I should be retired and writing my memoirs.”

Walk, walk, walk.

In the darkness quietly, my voice became more relaxed and reverent.

“Hey, you’re an infinite being of infinite understanding. I’m counting on you havin’ an infinite sense of humor.”

Walk, walk.

“Sorry about the whining.”

Walk, walk, walk.

“You know my heart.”

Walk, walk, walk, walk.

The sun well-set and well-behind me.

Lightning crackled above the mountains ahead.

Thunder and moon hid

behind mountains

of darkly curious clouds.

I stopped thinking

walked silently

to

the storm.

 

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