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A Mommyblog, A Dating Site, And A FUCKING COMMUNITY

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My terrible ones, it has been a week. What, it is Wednesday, you say? You can fuck right off out of here with your "calendars" and "linear time."


At my house, we've had a news blackout; we had family in from everywhere and what was going to be a four-day vacation. Even so, everything was enervating; work intruded. We finally got a day at the lake -- eating sandwiches, floating around, the baby naked except for a husky hat -- and came home to just HORRIBLE news. One of our kindest-hearted commenters, Jonny on Maui, had collapsed and died, with his new wife, Morgan, at his side.

Like others -- like my husband, Shypixel, and me! -- they had met and gotten funky in our stupid comments. (Others of you who are IRL boning, let us know in the comments! Let your freak flags fly!) And they loved each other like crazy, and made a tiny corner of the jerk universe a happier place. Morgan's obituary for Jonny had us crying all night, bloody and gutted. I'm reproducing it in full below.

But there is more to say, and it's not about Morgan and Jonny, whom we only know from their funny and tender words across the ether. Until yesterday, I didn't even know Morgan's name. It's about you. It's about us. It's about how in all this maelstrom of shit, we've managed to comfort each other with only dick jokes and cusses.

Our nation is going through terrible trials, and we've all been eyeing the Canadian border. It's a terrifying time. We are marching to fascism quickly, and not even under a smart man, but a hideously stupid one. We see them ramping up camps, except this time they're real.

It's aging us. It's exhausting us. It's doing a number on our corporeal bodies. Every day, someone we love dies who shouldn't have. And all we can do is stick together and shout, FUCK NO, WE WILL NOT HAVE IT. There are other things we should do, too. SOME exercise (don't overdo it!). LESS drinking. MORE sex, even if you're tired, if you are partnered up and able, or LOOKING for more sex, if you are not. Knocking on doors (not for sex). Instead of sending a check and voting this time out, I'm helping organize Polson, Montana, for Senator Jon Tester. He is bad on some things! (The bank bill was terrible.) But he's infinity-better than the Republican the Mercer family is supporting. And it helps me to feel that I am not powerless. I can be like the middle-aged and elderly Indivisible ladies, DOING something instead of lying down in misery. I can spend two hours on Sundays knocking on doors, and having coffee and pastries ready at my home for any other women doing the same. Already, four women have joined me, so I'm going to have new friends too soon.

The number of people reading Wonkette has dropped precipitously (long story, too boring, Facebook algorithm change), but there are several hundred thousand of you left, who come and join us every month, and we've seen no change in what matters. You've kept our family whole, in an extremely pleasant home near but not on a lake. You've sent us cash money to come and meet you, from San Diego to Washington DC and dozens of cities and towns in between. You've kept each other company in the comments, and have helped each other both emotionally and financially. You are, for all your terribleness, good people who want a world better not just for yourselves, but for others. It's what makes you Not Republicans. It's what makes you decent, despite your obscene mouths and that grease on your T-shirt. You should probably do some laundry while you're doing more exercise and having more sex.

Jonny is not the first Wonker who's up and fucking died on us. We have had letters from grieving husbands and brothers and kids, and we have grieved with them, when they let us know a faithful reader had gone. They may not have been in the comments -- and probably weren't, since I figure there's around 200 active commenters at a time, out of about 400,000 regular followers -- but they probably read them. And they came here several times a month -- or several times a day -- to know that they weren't crazy, it's the world that's fucking crazy.

You're not crazy either (I mean, unless you specifically are, and that's fine too, we got you!). It's the country, not us. And there's still more of us than there are of them.

We love you, very, very much.

From Morgan, Mrs. MLG on Maui:



Dear Wonkette Family,

I am so sorry to be writing this to you.

Jon, or as you all know him, Jonny on Maui, died Thursday morning on a black rock beach at the edge of the Pacific ocean.

My oldest niece, Cora, is here for her long after graduation visit-her last chance to be a kid before starting life as an adult. I went back east for 2 weeks to see my people, and bring Cora home with me. We had been back a little over 2 weeks, and we were having a wonderful time showing her around the island. We loved having guests, because when someone came for a visit, Maui was new to us again through their eyes.

Thursday morning, we took her snorkeling at a favorite spot. We had a fantastic time. The water was warm and clear, and there was incredible sea life everywhere. Cora did very well on her first long snorkel, and we were pleased. When we finished, Jon made it to shallow water, stood up, and immediately collapsed back in the water. Cora and I were still swimming to shore behind him. Strangers pulled him onto the beach, and tirelessly performed CPR while we waited on the ambulance. I made it in, sat beside him, held his hand, and talked to him. I told him to come back. I told him Cora and I needed him. But even after the paramedics worked and worked on him, right there on the rocky shore, with the ocean at his feet, his heart never beat again. He wasn't able to come back to us. When there was nothing more they could do for him, and they had carried him up the lava rock path to the ambulance, they let me sit with him for a while. I told him how very, very sorry I am this happened to him. I told him I missed him already. I told him I love him.

We won't know for certain what caused his body to give up until later this week. After that, I will carry out his wishes. He will be cremated, and we will scatter his ashes at our favorite places. Baby Beach. Po'Olenalena Beach. The Monkeypod trees at the Hui No'eau. Rainbow Park. The orchard on our property he loved so very much.

Jon was a big man, with a big presence, and a bigger heart. He was good to me. He was good to my people. He was good to his people. He was good to people. He was tender and loving to animals. He worked hard. He took care. He took responsibility. He was a terrible dancer who made the worst Dad Jokes EVER. He was my good husband for 3 1/2 months. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how to make his dreams into realities. I was his dream. He made us breakfast and coffee every morning. He was full of positivity and joy and enthusiam. He loved to eat and cook and smoke weed. He made people laugh. He loved terrible old B movies and Sci-Fi and rock and roll. He snored like a motherfucker. He was the only man I have been with who has ever been truly, deeply, every minute of every day kind to me. He was sharp and quick and resourceful. He wasn't afraid to say what he felt. He sang silly songs to our dogs. He was my whole world on Maui. He let me be myself. He let me be free. He stood up for what he believed in. He could perfectly fold fitted sheets. All the cats loved him best, even my cat. He made the most delicious grilled cheese sandwiches on Earth. He worked hard for everything he had. When he found out he was too tall to achieve his dream of being an astronaut, he moved right on, and worked his way up to a successful career building things that went into space. He appreciated art and nature and music and books. He loved his late wife for 40 years, and he cared for her every moment of the decade she was ill. He loved his sons. He did his best for them. He was a survivor of bad things who didn't let the bad things win. He told me I was beautiful, and that he loved me, more than once, every day we were together. He walked the walk. He was happy. He was full of zeal for life right up to the very second his life ended.

He cared about Wonkette. He cared about the people here. He cared about you. He would want you to be good to one another and support one another in these frightening and difficult times.

I don't know what happens to your Mrs. MLG, (Morgan, as I am known here in "real life") now. I don't know where I am going to go, or what I am going to do. Today, I am making it through one breath, one step, one task at a time. Cora and I are taking care of each other. She's most definitely a grown up now. Mom dropped everything to fly here and be with me. My people surround me with love and support. They were Jon's people, too, and they are all hurting. We will get through what we have to get through. When I decided to move here, I knew I was taking a number of risks. Jon was significantly older than me, and we both knew it was likely I would be on my own one day. We certainly never dreamed it would be this soon.

In our year and a half living together, we really fucking lived, y'all. We went to the best beaches. We ate delicious food. We shopped. We explored the island. We entertained friends and family. We wore it the fuck out. We worked on our house and property. I made this house into a home for us. He kept the jungle from taking over. No matter what happens now, I wouldn't trade the time I had with Jon for anything. No one can ever take from me the joy of my time loving him, and being loved by him. And I will always love him. I will carry him with me the rest of my days.

Jon and I had no family on the island, so I will not be publishing an obituary in the newspaper. This is Jon's obituary. This is where we met. This is where we became friends before we became partners in life. Two people who lived 5,000 miles apart were brought together here at Wonkette, and all of you are part of that. Thank you for being part of that. Thanks for making him laugh, and giving him a place to share his thoughts.

If you choose to remember the Wonkette love story of Jon and Morgan, please don't dwell on the tragic ending. Please think of us the way we were together. Think of us marching together in protest for our country. Think of us smiling and holding hands on a beautiful Maui beach, on a perfect Maui day. Think of us, and hold your loved ones close and tight. Think of us, and fucking live. Live every moment of your life like it's the last.

With love,
Morgan G.
Jonny on Maui
April 3, 1955-June 7, 2018

Darlings, it's your open thread.

Rebecca Schoenkopf

Rebecca Schoenkopf is the owner, publisher, and editrix of Wonkette. She is a nice lady, SHUT UP YUH HUH. She is very tired with this fucking nonsense all of the time, and it would be terrific if you sent money to keep this bitch afloat. She is on maternity leave until 2033.

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