A Good Man

    I had planned to publish this yesterday, but I ended up spreading mulch (which is pretty much what I do here).  By the time I was done with that, though, I turned on football. First I watched Pittsburgh drop one to the Bills. Then the Eagles absolutely laid an egg in Tampa Bay.  
    Just like that, Pennsylvania said goodbye until next season. 
    At any rate, by then I was too tired to write. And, considering I don’t get paid to do these things, I decided to hang on until today. 
    Yesterday was the birthday for the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr.  Ever since it became a federal holiday in the 80s, I honor the memory of a man who would be shocked at the race politics being played out today by the likes of “Reverend” Al Charlatan…err, Sharpton and his ilk.  Content of character and color of skin, you know. 

A flawed man.
But, a good man.

    Anyway, as most of you know, I do not like Donald Trump (now there’s a segue for you). I think he would be a disaster were he to move into the Oval Office again (he won’t).  
    Far too many people see him as the Trump of 2016 instead of the Trump of 2024. The cultish adoration slobbered on him by a disturbing number of people is…uh…disturbing (remember, I don’t get paid for this.  I can afford to be lazy when searching for a clever synonym). 
    While I thought he was a good president, until he wasn’t (in 2020), his childish antics and sophomoric egomania were always maddening to me.      
    Thus, I find myself in an uncomfortable position where I actually have to take Orange Jesus Bone Spurs’ side when attacked from the Left and Right. 
    What’s most perplexing is when I have to defend him from Republicans (a party of which I am not a member).  
    I even got into an argument on Twitter/X (where else?) with a DeSantis supporter. 
    It’s Bizarro World. 
    My first argument stemmed from the fact that four pinheads in Colorado decided he should not be on the ballot.  This was because of his association with the so-called “insurrection” on January 6th.

Not an insurrection


    Never mind that he was not charged with insurrection, to say nothing of being found guilty of insurrection. The aforementioned pinheads didn’t like him (Orange Man Bad) so, to save democracy, they must ensure voters have no choice.
    Then, a looney from Maine followed suit.  I guess all that moose semen got to her head.

"And how do you think she got it?  Yeah, baby, yeah!"

    Predictably, there were calls in Red States for the Cadaver-in-Chief to be left off state ballots because he has failed to protect this country from invasion at the Southern Border. 
    While I agree that he hasn’t, that nonsense shouldn’t be allowed, either.  I maintain that it should be the voters who decide, not those afflicted with Trump or Biden Derangement Syndrome.
    I pointed this out on Twitter/X and was met with howls of protest from those not on Team Cheeto.  If Trump wasn't an option, it would only help their girl, girl, or Doughnut Eater. Methinks their motives are a little suspect.
"Naw, I'm out."
      A second occasion occurred in an argument on Twitter/X (where else?) with a pronoun mental deficient last week. 
    Brian Kilmeade, in a radio interview with Jamie Raskin, said nothing when the congressman quipped that Trump advised people to “drink Clorox” to combat the Chinese Flu. 
    I asked Kilmeade how he could let his guest get away with such an outrageous statement. 
    Two imbeciles wrote that Trump did say that. 
    No, I replied, he did not.  Rather, he asked if injecting disinfectant under the skin (itself a ludicrous statement and typical of Big Orange) would be effective.  
    I challenged my…err…challengers (remember, no pay, no fancy synonyms) to provide me a video of Trump saying “drink Clorox.”  If they could, I’d admit I was wrong and would retract my objections. 
    Of course, they couldn’t.  Mostly, because he didn’t say it.  Instead, one sent me a video of Trump opining about the efficacy of injecting disinfectant.  She/he/it said that was proof. When I replied that it was not the same, he/she/it replied there was no difference. 
    At that point, I waved off from further debate. I knew there was zero point in going on, even though words mean things.  But, true believers (on both sides) will twist anything to suit their agendas. 
    In any event, as Election Day inexorably approaches, I have no doubt that I’ll be forced to stick up for The Donald again. He seriously can’t help saying stupid things.
"Well, I am a stable genius."
    But, I will continue to do my best to point out when unfair attacks are launched against him.  Even though I desperately wish he would just shut up, go away, and not make me do so.  Although, I know he won’t. 
    You see, like Dr. King, he’s a flawed man.
    Just not a good one.

The Adultery Song

Happy New Year!


    I had planned a series of holiday-themed blog posts as we slid towards 2024 (which I, sadly, predict will be a shitshow of a year.  Hope I’m wrong, but…).  However, it was not to be as I was gripped in a very busy schedule of sitting on my expanding keister, eating trail mix (with M&Ms!), and watching Netflix. 

"Shitshow it may be but I promise that it will be the greatest shitshow known to man, especially since I will be its leading star and will provide you with only the highest quality of shit known to man even if it comes from Sleepy Joe's diapers which, quite frankly, is nothing that I would ever consent to wear because they don't come in orange and besides who is a much better choice as the Republican nominee than me because Sanctimonious is only, what?, five ten and makes me marvel that they can stack shit that high." 

    So, to those who looked forward to me waxing poetic, my apologies.  Incidentally, you should seek psychological help immediately.

    I did consider giving you my opinion on the various holiday songs out there.  But, since it’s now January, I’ll hold off for another eleven months.  

    In other words, you’ll need to be patient to find out why songs such as I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus give me the creeps.

Insert "blowing" for "kissing" and you'll know why it gives me the creeps.

    In a related vein, though, I’ll take this opportunity to discuss my all-time least favorite song, which is not Christmas-related:  The Pina Colada Song.

Which is actually called Escape.  Who knew?

    Oh, I know, most of you probably love this thing.  If radio airtime is any indicator, countless others also agree it’s a smash.  Whether on the radio or in movies such as Grownups, Rupert Holmes breezy little ditty is quite popular.

Which is a movie for which I don't particular care. 
And not just because Adam Sandler is in it. 
Okay, it's because Adam Sandler is in it. 
 I don't like Adam Sandler. 
I said what I said.

    Well, it’s not popular with me.  I have to ask those of you who may disagree:  have you ever listened to the lyrics?  If so, can you draw any conclusions?  If you did, you’d know that it’s not a sappy little tune with oh-so-cute lyrics

    Whenever I hear its opening bits, I immediately shut it off and go off in search of anything, Rap, PBS, Gospel music, static...anything.

Gregorian chants will do in a pinch
    I call it the Adultery Song.

    Think about it.  In the beginning, the singer is bitching about how humdrum his life has become so he looks at a personals ad while his wife snores next to him.

    Intrigued by the possibilities of one in particular (which mentions drinking pina coladas…hee, hee, hee), he pens a reply with the intention of setting up a rendezvous with a potential paramour.

   He finally makes his escape (ohhhhhhhhhh, "escape."  Now I get it!) to a place called O’Malley’s, a bar which I’m sure smells like Old Spice, Jean Nate, and middle-aged desperation.  Only to find his wife sitting there.  Whaddya know?  She was the one who placed the original ad.

"Hey there, sailor, new in town?"

   Oh, my!  What fun!  What a smashing bit of hilarity!  His wife was just as miserable as he!  But, joy, oh blissful joy!  They both like drinking pina coladas, getting caught in the rain, something to do with dunes, and making love at midnight.

    At least that’s what he said.  There could only be three explanations:  1.  He genuinely likes all of that crap, 2.  He’d say anything if it’d get him laid, or 3.  He desperately wanted to avoid having his penis sliced off by who quite frankly was looking to do a little of the wild thing herself.

    Neither one of them was pissed off!

    If you come right down to it, the both of them are pretty pathetic.  Instead of working on themselves, they both turned to a personals ad in search of excitement and mixed drinks.

    Instead of laughing it off, why the two of them don’t walk out of the gin joint in a huff and immediately seek divorce lawyers is beyond me.

    What’s worse? I actually like pina coladas.

But, I'm staying right here.  It's raining outside.  Plus, it's dark at midnight.


Happy Independence Day!

     Or "Fourth of July" to the rest of the world.     Yes, yes, sigh, I know.  Many other countries, other than the United State...