Over the years, I’ve heard a lot of crazy stuff (also called “crazy shit” by people whose blogs aren’t quite as decent as mine), but among the crazier stuff is that the latest and sexiest article of impeachment against old whatsisname (former president, heavy dude, blond-esque hair, golfs a lot – you know who I mean) is being “walked over” to the Senate from the House.
What the heck! If you stood up for justice and truth, like several politicians did, you can’t even walk yourself down the street these days, let along walk a document indicting the plump, red-hat wearing dude who incited an insurrection. Are the articles being walked over with armed military personnel protecting the brave person doing the walking, or is some page skipping along to grandmother’s house without protection from the wolves? If it’s me, I get on my bike and ride like holy hell, flipping the bird to would-be articles-of-impeachment-thieves.
Anyway, don’t they know that we keep copies?
Hang on. I have people jumping up and down and waving their arms to get my attention. OK now they’re making that circular motion with index fingers around their temples to indicate that I’m crazy.
Ha, well, it turns out that it’s walked over because both houses of congress are in the same building. Except, wait, that’s the Capitol building.
I still think we need a robust security detail walking this one over.
Not that I have any idea how to manage this website, or that you’re actually reading it, but I think it’s the right time to announce that the sidebar to the right, which I stopped adding content to some years ago when President 45’s rhetoric stopped being merely idiotic and became downright incendiary, be retired in favor of something more uplifting.
Pictures of puppies!
I’m going to see if I can find in the inaugural words of our next president, Uncle Joe, an apt haiku to post to this sidebar. Basically, I have no idea how to get rid of this sliver of vertical verbiage. Maybe the refreshed haikus will become “a thing” (as my son tends to say) and the world will finally pay attention to me.
Yeah, probably not.
If I were to announce that I have never fantasized of being internationlly renowned as the greatest tambourine artist in the world, well, you can imagine that most people wouldn’t believe me. I clearly have the body type for it. I also have the stamina.
For those of you who think that body type and stamina are irrelevant when it comes to tambourine playing, let me assure you that that many tambourine artists with raw talent never make it to the next level because they lack either stamina or the critical body-type factor: short-fingered, paunch in the midsection providing the right dampening effect for certain styles, amply endowed derriere against which to smack the tambourine skin for maximal sound. Traits like these have long made the finest tambourinists. (Go ahead, look it up.)
Just to be clear, I’ve only imagined being the best tambourine artist. I’ve never actually played one.
But if I did…
Whenever my followers are found to be whipped up into a riotous frenzy, smashing windows and stealing letterhead from my enemies and so forth, all eyes immediately turn to me. Like I held a gun to people’s heads and forced them to abscond with that lectern or suggested that they take a leak into a Congressman’s coffee mug.
Do I know that coffee mugs were repurposed into urinals? Not exactly. But my limited experience with shirtless people wearing fur hats and face paint and carrying spears is that they usually have to relieve themselves mid-riot, and if a Congresperson’s mug is just sitting there unused, well, it might as well be put into action.
There was a lack of preparation for these riots, with far too few porta-potties mobilized for such a huge crowd such that some rioters missed storming the Capitol because they were in a porta-potty line and didn’t want to lose their places. In 2021, that’s shameful.
Not to create a diversion or anything, but I’m wondering if it might make sense to award the Presidential Medal of Freedom to a few professional bowlers this week.