Bernie, Baby, Burn

Posted on October 19, 2025 by Jeremiah Murphy

I spent a lot of Friday making arrangements should I not come home Saturday afternoon. Ordinarily, that would be my emergency contact, Sophia, but she was my copilot yesterday. We were going to the No Kings Rally in front of the Capitol building, and I was pretty sure I was getting arrested.

The president and his consigliores had labeled this event as un-American. Despite his having been proved a liar repeatedly, people believed him. He is most definitely in the Epstein files, but everyone is giving him the benefit of the doubt. He brought troops into my city to use as a springboard to threaten his enemies in Democratic-leaning states, and people still think he’s trustworthy. He was certain to make an example out of us, so why not here?

The fascist takeover of our country has left me hopeless and alone. I have no reason to feel alone. Almost everyone I know agrees with me. But the media is, at best, wishy-washy when it comes to the anti-ethics of the Republican Party. The Democratic Party is not siding with No Kings because they don’t want to look soft on crime. Millions of citizens are angry and afraid, and no one is coming to help us.

I believed I was going to be arrested or worse at this rally, but I had to go. I had to be seen. Even if I was seen fleeing the scene while being chased down by tear gas. And I wasn’t going to let Sophia go alone.

The rally started at noon, but I had a dental appointment I was late to because of Metro fuckery. My trip there and to the meet-up point was jam-packed with people carrying signs. I spent the trip reading the ALCU’s Instagram post advising what to do in the case of a detainment or arrest.

I met Sophia, and we walked to the entrance point. She seemed determined, but I was tense. If we turned a corner and saw a pillar of smoke, I was going home. If I heard gunfire, I was going home.

What we saw as we got closer, turned out to be families and couples leaving our destination, looking chill. As we moved on, folks sat in camping chairs, some decorated in yellow balloons, and directed traffic. One such person was in a blow-up shark costume.

I said, “I’m not scared anymore.”

She snorted. “You were scared?”

“I didn’t want to get arrested.”

“Please,” she huffed, “like I’d go to a place where I would be arrested.”

The rally, like those leaving it, was chill. It wasn’t too crowded, and everyone was polite. There were vendors there, and they only took cash or Venmo. We bought a couple of big flags to wave around because I forgot our signs. Some people were selling water, but most people were giving it away.

At one point, I thought I was seeing a fight break out in the middle of a thick crowd, but it was actually a friendly dance battle.

Sophia and I pushed forward, until we were near the front. The police on the other side of the barriers looked really bored, except for the snipers on top of the East Building of the National Gallery of Art.

Inching forward, Sophia brought us to a halt and said, “Let’s just wait here and people-watch!”

“People-watching is one of my favorite things to do,” I told her as if she didn’t know that about me.

I love to be around interesting people, and this rally was full of them. Some people dressed like Founding Fathers. Some people blew bubbles. Some people carried signs on pizza boxes. Other people had professional signs. One person had a painting of Donald Trump violating Lady Liberty with his hand. Sophia and I agreed that this wasn’t helping.

There were either four people wearing blow-up unicorn costumes, or the same person was moving place to place really fast. There were axolotls, sharks, and dinosaurs. Frogs were also popular, and someone explained to someone else while I listened, the frog mascot was seen at a Portland rally, making the cops look ridiculous. Also it was reclaiming the frog motif from Pepe.

A guy on an intercom announced something, but I couldn’t make out the words.

Sophia asked, “Did he just say Bernie?”

The voice from somewhere nearby said, “Thank you, I’m proud to be here.”

And I shouted, “Bernie! Woooooo!” I was elated. I felt seen, even though I couldn’t see where he was. He declared war on Trump, and he told us what we were going to do after the midterms, but I am not so hopeful.

Sophia and I left shortly afterward. I found out we were there for two hours, and I thought we were there an hour, tops. In addition, what I thought was a fifteen-minute speech from Bernie was actually over thirty minutes.

I’m not sure how I’d describe that rally. It reminded me of Speedway, Indiana during the Indy 500—just souvenirs and crowds of likeminded people, some in costume, celebrating. In DC yesterday, we celebrated our unity. Tidal waves of people flowed through our large cities.

I don’t know how the news is going to report it. I can’t think about that. I witnessed an electrifying politician voice his support for the Americans who are getting squeezed dry and criminalized. It was exactly what I needed to hear.

Harry Potter and the Miserable C-word

Posted on April 16, 2025 by Jeremiah Murphy

I’m asexual. Many people, including close friends, don’t believe this. They see the fact that I like to draw sexy women as proof I’m not. They see that I’d had sex before with different partners as proof I’m not. Characters in my novels are often quite horny, which is proof I’m not. Some simply don’t believe asexuality exists. Maybe it’s a hormone issue. Maybe somebody hurt me. Maybe I just haven’t met the right person. Maybe I just have a headache.

I wrote and erased a point-by-point rebuttal to these because this is not about me, but it’s still very personal.

April 6 is Asexuality Awareness Day. This is a fairly new role for April 6, and I didn’t even know about it until this happened. JK Rowling knew, and she put out a snarky tweet. I considered posting an image of that tweet, but I didn’t want to google it. It basically says that it’s a day so people who don’t “fancy a shag” get to feel oppressed.

Fuck you, Joanne, we are oppressed. Google “acephobia” to see. There are conversions and
“corrective” rapes, as well as just straight-up violence. Did you know that the word “groomer,” so crucial to the stigmatization of Trans people, became popular describing aces? Apparently, we’re trying to indoctrinate children, when we just want to be left alone. Like Trans people.

The reason you don’t hear about acephobia is because we are, I believe, the smallest subset of the LGBT+ umbrella (if we’re included at all—that’s a gray area), and there are no legal protections for us. Currently, there are no pogroms directed against asexuals, but that could change soon.

Why should the government care who you have sex with? If you ask that question, you clearly did not live in the eighties and nineties, before gay people are such a part of society that even bigot Joanne Rowling (barely) supports them. No, the government is obsessed with who you have sex with.

When I first saw the tweet ten days ago, I thought she was just being a bitch. She is, after all, a bitch, and bitches do bitchy things. But the responses were increasingly unhinged, agreeing with her, denying we existed, telling us how we can be cured, or just threatening rape. Any time an ace stepped in to challenge this, Joanne herself mocked and dismissed them.

Trans people are under attack, and it will escalate even more as soon as the people who voted for Trump (i.e. most of the country) run out of immigrants to terrorize. Transphobia is not new, but it could be argued that JK Rowling made it mainstream. They can talk about how scared they are of men in dresses using the ladies room, but they’re not in any danger. And they know it. Trans people are a weak minority, and nobody’s going to stand up for them while they’re being harassed by the people who are supposed to protect them.

And now she’s coming for the asexuals. Like all fascists, she’s picking on a target that can’t fight back, and she’s raising the profile of us, mocking us then making us out to be a threat somehow. This will escalate.

I can blend into the allosexual world if I want to, but I don’t want to. I am fairly outspoken about being ace, and I intend to stay that way, even facing down the barrel of a gun.

Here’s the thing: Harry Potter is fine. I am not going to talk about how badly written it is (the word I’d use is competent, and leave it at that) or say I knew how problematic it was the whole time. There’s some good stuff in there, but much of it could be found, and presented better, in any Terry Pratchett novel. I’ve read all seven books and seen all the movies. I even think of myself as a Hufflepuff (without all the hard work stuff).

Lately, I’ve been forced to consider “The Death of the Author,” in which an author can be separated from their work. This is important when the artist behaves badly, as in the case of literary giant Neil Gaiman, and my favorite comic book writer, Warren Ellis, as well as comedians Bill Cosby and Dave Chapelle. So much of what I know about storytelling comes from these men, but I can’t separate the hate speech and rape.

Harry Potter fans with an inkling of a conscience use “The Death of the Author” as an excuse for putting on their Gryffindor scarfs and playing Quiddich, despite that the creator of this nonsensical sport is hateful and petty. She is the richest author, ever, and she wants Trans people in prisons, if not dead, for the sin of existing. And now the eye has turned to me.

Maybe they won’t come after asexuals. Maybe they won’t inspect my penis to make sure it’s being used properly. Maybe they won’t try to convert me. But American citizens are being sent to foreign countries to be imprisoned in hellish conditions. Trans people are being attacked by endless legislation. Gay teens are still being tortured legally.

Don’t tell me I’m overreacting. Don’t say it can’t happen. It is happening. You may not know any Trans people, but they’re still people, and you should care. It always starts small, with a little mocking and dismissal, and the next thing you know, you’re public enemy number one. And it looks like I’m next. You might be next.

In conclusion, if you’re a Harry Potter fan, I urge you to reconsider. I get that it’s part of your childhood, but Sandman was a crucial part of my life, and I’ve boxed it up and put it in the corner of my closet, along with my autographed copy of Norse Myths.

You are not your entertainment. You are a human being, and we need to look out for each other. If I can kick Neil Gaiman and Warren Ellis and all of my favorite books and comics to the curb out of solidarity to women, you can kick Harry Potter and the Insufferable Monster to the curb too, out of solidarity to Trans people, and hopefully not asexuals.

Virtue Signaling

Posted on February 26, 2025 by Jeremiah Murphy

Glenn Beck, whoever that is, held a rally on September 12 (I can’t remember the year) to unite us as a country, like we were on September 12, 2001. I can’t begin to list all of the ways this is a lie, so I won’t. Remember, though, regardless of where you were, what it was like when the world ended, but the next morning, life went on. We had no idea how we were supposed to move forward. Somehow, we did.

When Donald Trump pulled his face off to reveal Elon Musk making a Nazi salute, the world ended. Those of us with any decency had been betrayed by their neighbors, their coworkers, their bosses, some of whom are now saying, “I didn’t vote for this!” Judges are upholding Elon’s draconian cuts and unprecedented access to the confidential information of innocent Americans.

Somehow, life goes on.

It’s bad out there. I don’t need to tell you why. I can’t look at the news without wanting to vomit, and this is not an exaggeration. It’s hard to remember what it was like to be happy, even for a minute. Your body and mind are seeking out dopamine. There are lots of ways to get a little hit of it, but the best way is to pay someone a compliment. That way two people get dopamine hits.

Lately, for no reason, I’ve been more aggressive about pointing out things I like about a person. The dam burst when I was sitting in the dressing ballroom at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church with Lisette listening to my expertise about dresses. I have no expertise, but somehow suggesting binder clips(?) was the solution.

Lisette’s performance and character are my favorite part of Metromaniacs. I realized then there was no reason to keep this to myself. So I told her. She was startled, but touched. The next day, I told Lucille that she had that influencer vibe, and she told me she hadn’t looked at it that way. I’m looking forward to telling Mondor that his fall is art.

I’ve started bugging strangers on the street, making them smile for a moment. It’s not always rewarding, as in the three elder Zoomers walking side-by-side. As I passed them, I said, “You guys look really fucking cool, keep it up.” Then I added, “I’m being sincere. You really look cool walking like that.” Their expressions said, “Who the hell is this crazy old person?” And I think they were waiting for me to hit them up for some Molly.

I’m telling you all this because I need to brag. Bragging is in fashion. However, you only get to brag if it’s about the size of your bank account and/or penis, how much gas your car goes through, and how much people love you. Culture has criminalized bragging about the good things you do.

Well, go fuck yourself, culture, because I’m bragging about making life a tiny bit better for a tiny amount of people. It’s easy, it’s free, it only takes a few seconds, and you can turn someone’s day around. I’m bragging because I want more people to do it.

I got my hair cut two weeks ago in a slightly different style, and someone in the office noticed, and it made my morning. How could I not want to do that for other people?

I’m not a good person. I’m passive-aggressive, my manners have atrophied, my lizard brain is kind of racist, I’m impatient, and I’m a disappointment to my cat. But I like to think I’m a decent person. I do try to have some empathy.

It’s in the spirit of this that I say this: You. Yeah, you. The one reading this. You have a great smile, and I love seeing it. Except you, Lisa. Your mouth is nightmare fuel.

Reel Talk

Posted on January 17, 2025 by Jeremiah Murphy

(Trigger Warning: It took a lot of work to keep this PG-13. I had to take a shower after the events of this brief adventure, and not in a fun way.)

I hate it when Facebook recommends stuff to me, based on my “interests,” including the reels. At one point, I was only getting clips from 2 Broke Girls, even though I am not remotely interested in that show.

The algorithm decided that, if Kat Dennings wasn’t enough, it would send me all the big boobs they had. Even though I didn’t click on them, the algorithm decided I needed to see more uncomfortable-looking breasts. It sent me reel upon reel of buxom women, mostly dancing.

When that phase passed, it switched to end-to-end Taylor Tomlinson clips, which finally got me clicking on them. (Her comedy connects with me.) However, the batch I actually engaged with didn’t last long.

Now it’s kind of crazy. Mostly, it’s gone back to big boobs, but they’re uncomfortably huge now, and I’m not turned on. I feel bad for the girls. Also there are the occasional clips from 2 Broke Girls and Taylor Tomlinson.

Today, I made a huge mistake. I saw a preview for a reel that featured an inhumanly pretty ginger in a corset. Her boobs were average-sized, so I don’t know what she was doing here.

I’m making huge strides in my artwork, and I’m trying to spend more time on faces. She was a beautiful model. And not because she was in a corset. Honest. In that two-second preview, she became a muse to me, and I needed to see more. I knew not to click on it, but I did anyway.

The video lasted about thirty seconds, and it was on a loop. The entire show featured this beautiful woman digitally stimulating the camera, as if it had male parts.

She could have been playing with a cat. She could have been banging on a silent bongo. She could have been painting. She could have been using a shake weight. But she wasn’t. She had the smug look and rhythm people have when they’re engaged in this kind of activity. Or so I’ve heard.

I closed my laptop and thought about my choices. I feel really gross now. I know I’m a vulgar person. I own this about myself. However, there’s a time and a place, and I don’t think Facebook is it. It’s not even sexy, it’s icky. Never again will I click on—ooh! Taylor Tomlinson video!

Are You Ready to Box?

Posted on January 3, 2025 by Jeremiah Murphy

My job is amazing. It fell into my lap, when I received a call from a recruiter who wanted to hook me up with a six-month temp gig with an option for full time, based on my LinkedIn profile. Think about that for a minute. I was recruited from LinkedIn. I can go to my grave knowing I’m the only one who can say that.

After a confusing interview, I got a job that was excessively boring. I had a couple of hours’ worth of work to do every day. However, at an even pace, I was introduced to new work and given a month or so to get used to it before another task was given to me. This is the best way to teach me, and I became an expert on everything that didn’t have lawyers.

I make mistakes a lot, and no one ever gets mad at me about it—they just explain what I did wrong and ask me to fix it.

It was the editorial inbox where I found my footing, answering panicked questions for authors, helping the editors through the process, and extending deadlines. Lately, I’ve been volunteering to train in some of the tasks I don’t know how to do and volunteering for anything or any backup I can do. I did this, not for career advancement, but to keep myself busy. Even so, when I realized no one was going to think about it if I didn’t bring it up, I asked about a promotion and got it.

I feel appreciated, and I’m never stressed out, though there are situations that make me want to flip my desk, but I can’t because it’s anchored to the cubicle. One of these situations is the all-employee meetings, which takes an hour to tell you about the DEI initiative, and sometimes the HR Boss gets roasted by a Zoom guest for eleven minutes.

Before the last meeting, everyone headed for the 10th floor, asking me if I was coming. I said I’d catch up, and I just didn’t go. I wasn’t being paid to be bored. Nobody missed me, and I didn’t miss anything. I had to go to this one because they’re shaking our office like a snow globe, and everybody is moving.

Because the office is closed from Christmas to New Year’s, the move would be then, and we needed to pack up our desks into these large moving crates. The movers would put them into your cubicle, and you just had to unpack and return the crates. HR Mom asked if there were any questions.

KAREN #1: What if we have too much stuff?

HR MOM: We have cardboard boxes in the work rooms. Just make sure you use labels.

The next Karen came to the microphone, and she looked ready to storm the place. “Are the boxes assembled? No? How are we supposed to know how to tape up the boxes?” She looked around at the rest of the audience who wanted her to stop talking so they could get back to work. Karen took it as support.

HR Mom said, “The boxes don’t require tape. Next question.” She eventually decided to give a demonstration on the assembly of the boxes, and the result was the same as if you rode a bull side-saddle.

This is when the Expert came in. Amused, he plucked the box out of HR Mom’s hands, and he couldn’t get it to work. HR Giant stepped in, and he came dangerously close to hitting the front row in the face.

They were banker’s boxes. I know they’re tricky, but they’re not that tricky. You’d think the Expert could navigate a banker’s box. If they started slapping each other, it would have been a Three Stooges short.

This is when I left.

Anyway, here’s the portrait I drew of the Expert when he was just hanging back and letting HR Mom run the show.

Capsule with Butterfly Wings

Posted on November 8, 2024 by Jeremiah Murphy

When I was married, we owned a gun. It was a Glock 19, nine-millimeter. It was compact and virtually indestructible. Each clip held fifteen rounds, sixteen if you had one in the chamber, which any responsible gun owner will tell you not to do. We used steel-jacketed rounds for target practice, which means, the bullet would go through a victim and hit the person behind them. They would probably not die, but they’d have to go to the hospital. Someone could do that to over sixteen people if they were so inclined, and no one would be able to stop them until they paused to reload (which only takes a second or two).

To buy the gun, we went to the Silver Eagle gun range in Virginia, said, “We want a gun.” Kate knew the make and model, so we walked out of there a couple of minutes later. We did not have to do a background check or give any indication we were not going on a shooting spree or even sign something (maybe saying we weren’t planning on shooting anybody?). The only thing they asked of us was the payment.

I’m telling you this because that one-time purchase was easier than the hoops I have to jump through every single month to get a psychiatric medication I require to function.

USA! USA! USA!

Rent II: Time to Pay Up

Posted on October 3, 2024 by Jeremiah Murphy

My building has a new owner, as of early September, and one of the first things they did was take down the residential portal on the official website. The portal we’d had so far helped us submit maintenance requests and do other things I never used it for. It was also how I paid my rent. With the exception of electricity, our building handles everything. They don’t pay for it, but I give them money for internet, water, sewer, et cetera, and they pass it on. I assumed that three weeks is enough time to put together a portal.

A quick detail you’ll need to know: new management doesn’t send mass emails out; they leave notes on your door. Basically, since they took over, I occasionally leave my apartment, see the envelope, automatically assume I’m being evicted, then read the letter sigh in relief.

As the end of the month approaches, it’s not clear how I’m going to pay rent, or even how much I will owe, as sewer and water fluctuate every month. I get an eviction notice Monday that says we can pay with a check, whatever that is. I haven’t written a check in five years. After tossing my studio, I find my checkbook in a box in another box under another box.

When I go into the management office, they tell they don’t take personal checks. I need to get a cashier’s check or a money order. I want to get this over with, and there’s a Walmart in my basement, so I stand in line at the customer service department and wait.

And wait.

I’m fifth in line when I get there with two agents at the desks, and it takes twenty minutes to get to the front. Once there, it takes another twenty minutes of entering my information, paying, the transaction not being approved, running it again, restarting from the beginning, still not approved, running it again, running it again, for the rep to tell me that there will be no money orders that day, and I should probably monitor my bank this week in case the transaction went through.

There’s a branch of my bank across the street from work, so I can just pick up a cashier’s check on Wednesday. Only one day late. However, when I opened my door yesterday morning, I find another eviction notice, this one saying they got their own portal, and there was a link to it. In a paper memo. There is also a QR code, so I found the site, but I’m not paying my rent over the phone. When I get home from work, I use DMs to get the page up on my laptop, and that’s when the party starts.

On the page, when it finally finishes loading, is a link: “Set up payment method.” I click on that, and about two minutes later, it gives me an error notice. I try again, and it takes three minutes for the page to load. It takes three minutes for every page to load, and this is what I have to click through to pay my rent, a day late through no fault of my own: Set up payment method->Click here to set up payment method->Credit or direct deposit->Verify->Use this payment method?->Pay bill->Pay balance or custom amount->Select payment method->Confirm->Pay. At three minutes a click, I estimate that I spent roughly four months paying rent today.

One of the best parts about being an adult in 2024 is how easy it is to pay bills. I don’t have to write a check anymore, I don’t have to make sure I have enough stamps, I don’t have to fill out that paper insert, I don’t have to lick an envelope. Nowadays, I don’t even have to remember my password. I paid my last landlord with Venmo, so I would routinely take care of rent while I was running errands. Not this month.

I have never had a harder time trying to give someone thousands of dollars.

A Day in the Life

Posted on September 11, 2024 by Jeremiah Murphy

I woke up about ten minutes before my alarm this morning, and it still pissed me off. Oscar slept on the floor because I’d rolled over onto him at about 2:30. He knows my alarm means breakfast, so he bullied me into getting out of bed and feeding him. I brushed my teeth, cleaned out his litter box, made my bed, picked out my clothes for the day, and showered. Since it was super-early, I worked on a drawing until my favorite café in the DMV region opened at seven. I took the Metro the two stops and huffed and puffed it up some very Bay Area terrain. When I arrived, I enjoyed a breakfast sandwich while reviewing the proofs for my novel. I then continued working on my drawing and watched people for the next three hours, until the art store opened. I didn’t need paint, ink, or paper, so I just browsed. I also found the comic book shop Nicole had shown me years ago, but it wasn’t open yet. In this beautiful, late-summer day, I explored Silver Spring, Maryland and went home to open up my social medias.

The one and only post I could find that acknowledged what’s on my mind today was the car salesman meme, this one selling a plane that can crash into two buildings for the price of one.

I’m done until tomorrow.

Jeremiah Murphy and the Journey into Darkness

Posted on August 24, 2024 by Jeremiah Murphy