You want the truth? You can't handle the truth!

Pinky Bombmaker sent me a text message yesterday, saying that he ran into Bobo Toyotasubaru after many years with no communication.

It was only recently that Bobo Toyotasubaru re-surfaced after his breakup with his ex, Granny Magicpothead. We got in touch with each other again on FB.

The breakup was epic. There was betrayal, infidelity, drugs, lies and fireworks. That is, according to Granny Magicpothead... Both Pinky Bombmaker and I met up with him for dinner and found out the “truth” of their breakup. Granny Magicpothead was “obviously” the victim, so hurt, chose to tell lies because he cared, had a near-death experience because he was mercilessly attacked by Bobo Toyotasubaru... aaw, poor thing!

You see, Granny Magicpothead has this magical power to invoke violence in all of us. On one occasion I wanted to shove an explosive device in his ass. His magic is just that powerful, but I digress...

Bobo Toyotasubaru simply vanished without saying shit to any of us, as if nothing happened other than the breakup. Not a boo even after he re-surfaced.

So what happened between the two of them on that fabled night?

The truth is... the REAL truth (as opposed to the FAKE truth, ha!) probably lies somewhere in between. You know, things out of context, out of sequence, conveniently overlooked, pulled out of his anus, that sort of thing.

Fast forward...

In light of a certain current event in the yoga community, it’s important to talk about satya (truth).

There is this innate bitch in all us, which manifests into this curious beast to find the truth. But here’s the thing:

Same objective but all kinds of intentions, and don’t get me started on how some people go about it (alignment? action? attitude?)

ME! ME! ME!

Wife asks husband, “honey, does this dress make me look fat?”.

This is a classic example of the intricate nature of truth about you. You see, you can probably write a doctoral thesis on the intention behind her question.

Is she looking for his honest opinion or affirmation of her looks? A boost to her confidence? Her sharp fashion sense? Her ass in that dress only covers half of the 42” wide screen TV?

She goes straight for it because she wants to know. Point blank. TELL ME NOW!

Uh oh! What's a husband to do? Tell her the real truth or the fake truth? Can she handle the truth?

The truth is, there is only one truth to tell and only one way to deliver it. No hesitation. No second guessing. Not a hint of doubt.

“Yes. Now get me a beer.”

INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALISM

This is basically about seeking truth, digging dirt, airing out dirty laundry of people or things other than yourself. You know, the "Geraldos", the "Phil Donahues", the "Catch The Predators", the "Nancy Graces", the "Consumer Reports", the "New York Times", the "WikiLeaks"... you get the picture.

Here's the deal, these bitches expose secrets of people that they don't know, for the purpose of "informing" the public while may or may not benefit from doing the dirty work. They tell the truth about someone or something to the rest of the world. 

That is some complicated powerful shit because many would be impacted positively or negatively.

Gossip is delicious and is full of empty calories. (OMG! Kim Kardashian's marriage was a sham!)

Many find it satisfying to see strangers tumble and fall. (I'm taking my kids out to watch the public hanging. You coming?)

The truth can be so horrible that you become constipated for 3 days. (Oh let's pretend that we didn't know that.)

The world can be a better place when the truth comes out. Remember, children died because some assholes put melamine in baby formula!

People dispute over the truth. (My truth is the real truth and it's more real than yours!)

Better yet, I'm digging up dirt on you so that when I go down, you're coming with me.

Do you judge someone you don't know, based on the truth? Which truth? There is the REAL truth, the FAKE truth and the hybrid PARTIAL-REAL-FAKE truth.

That someone could be you.

Then there's the spinning, denial, finger pointing, justifying why I was so naughty...

So complicated...