Since I'll do anything to avoid actually being constructive, I thought I'd peruse the folder on my computer called "Blog Pix." Yes, I do actually have something like that. Similarly, virtually none of the pictures on my cell phone are remotely serious. My wife asks why, for instance, I have a picture of a man humping a fish (one of my favorites) instead of her.
NOTE: the previous sentence is a classic dangling participle. This means you could interpret as why "I have a picture of a man humping a fish...instead of her." I thought to edit it so there's no confusion, but I left it in (that's what she said), because I thought it was funny. And that's a right handsome fish.
I reply that they make me laugh. And I am not well.
Anyway, in no certain order, here are some of them (possibly some of which you've already seen)...
The aforementioned fish humping picture. I know you've seen this. I usually caption it, "And now a word from the NMFLA (Man-Fish Love Association)"
"We sell zig zag papers, coffee which could strip paint, mummified hot dogs, pre-used scratch off tickets, and farts disguised as hoagies wrapped in cellophane. Take THAT, Wawa! Oh, thank heaven."
Personally, I think this whole 'Right to Arm Bears' is getting out of hand.
Put some bulbs in my garden before Spring.
Speaking of Spring, can beach season be far behind?
"Someone hear a noise?"
"Here, lemme give you a hand."
"I don't think it will fit in our living room."
Well, it is.
"Personally, I think the tuition costs for Electoral College are excessive. Electricians could get a much better bang for their buck at a trade school."
Now, how did this picture from my Super Bowl party get in here?
Okay, last one. Almost time for breakfast...
Remember when we actually thought this was ludicrous?
Okay, sure, there are a LOT of important and deadly things going on in the world. If the two of you who read this would like to get my take on them, may I recommend you visit Nobody Asked Me But..., it's a more serious appraisal of the world and can be found where you can get fine literature. Or this.
I prefer Penwasser Place remain solely a place of whimsy and silly.
And adultery.
I heard a song on the radio today, If Loving You Is Wrong, I Don't Want to Be Right. It's a catchy little tune, released in 1972 by Luther Ingram. Surprisingly (or perhaps not), it topped the R& B charts for four weeks and rose to #3 on Billboard's Top 100.
Throughout the entire ditty is a man whining about following his love, no matter how icky it is. "Knowing I got a wife and two little children depending on me, too." What a scumbag.
Newsflash for Luther: It is wrong and you definitely aren't right.
NOTE: Did a little research. Apparently Lither won't be receiving any newsflashes. He's dead. My bad.
Also, in 1972, is Me and Mrs. Jones, another screed by a douchebag who's having an affair with a married woman (the "Mrs." in "Mrs. Jones" gave it away, I'd wager). This little cheating nugget rose to #1 on Billboard's Top 100 for three weeks!
"We meet every day at the same cafe...while the jukebox plays our favorite song."
Probably If Loving You Is Wrong.
I know you're probably thinking, "What an old boomer prude. What's a little extramarital diddling between friends?" Look, I'm no morals scold, but these sociopaths wrote and performed proudly how much of a philandering turd they were.
I am old, though.
"NOW GET OFF MY LAWN!!"
But, nothing makes me change a radio station faster than Rupert Holmes' Poster Song of Adultery, Escape, which is more commonly known as the Pina Colada Song.
To use Peter Griffin's saying, this thing really grinds my gears.
"And you didn't even mention how my chin looks like a set of balls."
"BALLS!!!" Also dead. RIP
I'll admit, like the other two, this is a catchy song and was even featured on that hideous Adam Sandler movie, Grownups andthe lesser obnoxious Guardians of the Galaxy.
.
I'm sorry, the reason why I hate this more than any else is that both husband and wife are frikkin' cheaters. After placing an ad in the personals and scheduling a rendezvous with his paramour at "a bar named O'Malley's," he comes to find out that his date was actually his wife.
Meaning, Mrs. Scumbag was planning to cheat, as well. They all had a big laugh and never once mentioning how their intention was to boink a perfect stranger.
What in the name of Bill Clinton is this?
"I approve this message."
Released in December, 1979, it rose to become the country's last #1 hit of the year before being displaced by KC and the Sunshine Band's Please Don't Go in 1980 (their booty having been sufficiently shaken four years earlier). However, it went back to #1 for a few weeks in 1980.
These three were released in the 1970s. And here I thought the 70s had enough problems with disco, fashion, and Gerald Ford.
"Go ahead. Laugh clown, laugh. I am so gonna hit your rude ass with a blizzard."
Everyone thinks it’s Punxsutawney Phil who sets the tone for the rest of the winter and gets us psyched
for the glorious return of Spring.
See his shadow-six more weeks of
winter
Or is that Christmas lights?
No shadow? Early spring.
"No shit? Sounds as good as anything I got."
Still, the furry
little rodent know-it-all has nothing on the mid-winter circular from Home
Depot.
Having received my sale ad from that “Mecca of the Do-it-Yourselfer,”
I’m raring to put my shorts on and putter around the yard in search of
that evildoer, crabgrass.
As I wistfully flipped through the harbinger of milder weather, I couldn’t help but be awed by the dazzling
variety of ways to jazz up my backyard.From garden tractors to plastic flamingoes, I can buy enough goodies to
keep my neighbors green with envy
Or nausea
Luckily, though, nowhere in the paper did I
find those twin banes of home embellishment:lawn jockeys or garden gnomes.
Better
Brought to you by the same people who
brought you roses in toilets, Virgin-Mary-In-a-White-Truck-Tire, and little old ladies bending over,
As classy as those are
lawn jockeys are to good taste what Bill Clinton is to marital fidelity.
But, seriously, can you blame him?
"Right?"
Once believed gone the way of roller disco, leisure suits, and the Yellow Pages, they still occasionally spring up adjacent to driveways or on front porches like home decor kudzu.
Courteously painted white to avoid any insensitivities,
"If you know what's good for you, Cracker."
the custom of displaying these little equestrian statuettes is a vestige of an aristocratic past and is as insensitive as a cigar-store Elizabeth Warren Indian.
Don’t get me wrong, though.I applaud any attempt to improve a home’s
“curb appeal.”Surely, anything is
preferable to lavender aluminum siding, "Hate Has No Home Here" signs,
Except Republicans. They can fuck all the way off.
or garden gnomes.
These miniature Wilfred Brimley look-alikes
We would also accept "Robert Reich."
make me feel as if I’ve wandered into a Stephen King novel.At any minute, I’m afraid they’ll come to
life and drag me, kicking and screaming, to their secret lair inside the
Keebler oak tree.
"I feel attacked."
I mean, if you want brainless stumps camped
out on your front lawn, why not just ask Jerry Nadler over for a barbecue?
"I'll bring the chips."
Given a choice between the two, though, I'll settle for plastic flamingoes.
And, if you don't like it, I'm sending Jerry to your house. With a bag of Funyuns.
Won't get mail today. Or do business at the bank. Most of you will have to go to work, too. Except me. I'm retired. Suck it.
WARNING: The following
contains some truths, half-truths, and outlandish points of conjecture.Students are therefore urged to not
quote any of the below for scholarly research.Unless you don't live in the United States.Then, who cares?Like anyone is gonna know the difference.
NOTE: Some of this is a repost from last year. Not all of it. But some. Gotta write some of my book, don'tcha know. Because this Blogger gig doesn't pay shit. Come to think of it, neither do my books.
********
As I perused Twitter
"It's X!"
whatever, and Threads, the more liberal (relatively) version of Twitter,
"X!"
Seriously, weird dude, give it a rest.
Anyway, I read posts from a few people calling to ignore Presidents Day because it will celebrate a particular someone.
"I think he means me. Although I am the better reincarnation of Lincoln. Without the beard."
This was blasted by others who said the day was meant to celebrate George Washington. Another said, "NO! It's to celebrate Abraham Lincoln!"
Meaning, they'll argue about anything.
Even though I'd bet I'm more politically aligned with those guys, rather than the one calling for a nationwide boycott, I had to set them straight.
So, without further adieu...
Until recently, there was no such thing as “Presidents” Day.Rather, we celebrated “Lincoln’s Birthday” on
February 12th and “Washington’s Birthday” on February 22nd.What’s more, these were one shot deals,
instead of the three day weekend we now observe.
"One shot? More than a little insensitive, wouldn't you say?"
But,now we have Presidents
Day instead of two separate holidays.Created to make room for the Martin Luther King, Jr. Birthday holiday
(no sense giving mailmen too many
days off), Presidents Day was meant to commemorate both our 1st and our 16th
presidents.And sales on cars, sheets,
and living room furniture.
So as not to offend either the Washington
or Lincoln camps (boy, don’t get those two together in the same room!),
Presidents Day was set in the middle of their birthdays.Or the third Monday in February.Or whichever made for the better three-day
weekend.
As time wore on, Presidents Day transformed
into a day to celebrate all of our nation’s chief executives, even the sucky
ones.
"You take that back."
To be sure, there are plenty of obscure stiffs
from which to choose, guys who could be genuine stumpers in Trivial
Pursuit.In fact, were it not for their
bosses catching cold at inauguration, having one heck of a tummyache, being assassinated, being the second assassinated president, dropping dead of heart failure, or resigning, we probably would never have heard
of Tyler, Andrew Johnson, Arthur, Coolidge, or Ford.
NOTE: Two more presidents were, tragically, assassinated while in office. But, I'm sure (unless you went to a Somalian High Skool), you've heard of Theodore Roosevelt and Lyndon B. Johnson.
"Who?"
So, today I choose to talk about one of the lesser-known men to live rent-free at the White House.
"What?"
A man who was legendary in the Whig Party.
"Not wig?"
A man who put the needs of his fellow
citizens before his own.A man whose
hard work paid off handsomely.A man who
had the fortune of being Vice-President when Zachary Taylor died of a stomach-ache in
1849: Millard Fillmore, 13th President of the United States.
"Kind of a big deal when you put it like that, huh?"
Millard Fillmore was the last man to occupy the presidency who was neither a Democrat nor Republican. Meaning he wasn't a batshit-crazy partisan.
"YOU'RE FIRED!"
When we examine his accomplishments, we can clearly see...
Oh, wait, I know. He was a big proponent behind the Compromise of 1850, an attempt to forestall the coming civil war. But, uh, part of that compromise included the Fugitive Slave Act which expedited the return of escaped slaves to their masters.
Fillmore failed to secure the nomination of the Whig Party for presidency in 1852 because he sucked reasons. He then joined the newly-formed Know-Nothing Party.
"Big fan. No joke."
That party went nowhere. Which generally happens when you don't know anything.
"I'll bet they did't even know where Aleppo was, either." NOTE: this is an old joke, dating back to the election of 2016. Eventually, no one will know what I'm talking about.
They faded into obscurity. A fate avoided by Millard Fillmore. At least he became a punchline.
And wasn't responsible for preventing the Civil War.
