It occurs to me that we’re not getting La Cosa Trumpa (remember when Mike Malloy used to refer to the “Bush Crime Family” – HA! Small potatoes. Now we’ve got the cast of Goodfellas running the show, with Joe Pesci as Communications Director) out of the White House anytime soon. I’m no expert on the law or what constitutes an impeachable offense (seems to me there’s plenty to choose from here), but I kind of understand the way things work, and given craven greed and cowardice of everybody who can actually do anything about this, I think it’s fair to say we’ll be lucky to get off with a four-year sentence, if not eight. What I do know is that majority rules in the Reichstag, and as long as what passes for the Republican Party these days thinks they can control their useful idiot Bohemian Corporal, they’ll stand with him. Or at least near him. At any rate, as long as these – for lack of a better term – people hold even a single vote majority, we’re stuck with this bunch (and even if they somehow managed to impeach this fucker, there’s no way 2/3 of the Senate will vote to convict. I mean, when it’s a huge “victory” to barely defeat this “skinny” repeal vote that nobody on either side actually wanted to see pass, it just aint gonna happen.

But, in case you didn’t realize it before, it’s been made painfully obvious to all of us (and, sadly, to the rest of the world) that any asshole can get elected President. Unlike, say, the British Monarchy, power here doesn’t come from divine right (or from some watery tart throwing a sword at you), rather it comes when the majority (sort of) of assholes elect you to be king of the assholes. So now we’re stuck with this orange turd that should have been flushed down the gold-plated commode a long, long time ago.

Well, so be it, I guess.

But if Congress can’t thwart the will of the assholes, I’m kind of hoping for some small gesture. Namely, I’d like them to enact legislation that requires a President-elect and any of his appointees (as condition of their confirmation) to pass a test (or series of tests). Nothing terribly difficult. Just so they understand things like how a bill becomes a law, and the whole three branches of government and separation of powers, and where the US Constitution comes from (that there in fact is a US Constitution, why our forefathers came up with it, that, no we have more than four fathers, that the whole inconvenient Bill of Rights thing is mandatory – not just the part where it says we get to have all the guns we want, all the time in our well-regulated militia-of-ones)…. You know, basic we were taught in public school that they apparently had to skip over in those elite boarding schools in order to make time for lacrosse practice and cheerleading or whatever it is they do in those places where the wealthy folks send their ne’er-do-well spawn to get them the fuck out of the mansion for a few years.

And if we can’t subvert the will of the assholes, if the newly elected President can’t pass the test, he (or she – ha! – that’s a joke, son) can keep retaking it, but in the meantime Congress can appoint a regent to handle all the basic, big-boy things that need to get done in order to keep the country functioning. Maybe one of those smart woman types that everybody seems to fear and loathe.

Nothing like having a mommy type around to settle down the boys, after all.

OK, sure. I entered the bank that night hoping to grab as much money as I could carry. But it turns out the safe was empty. So, nothing to see here you lying fake news bastards. If only Dick Hickock and Perry Smith had known about this defense, the Clutters would still be alive. Well, the kids maybe. I guess the parents would be over 100. But you get what I mean – if you try to do something illegal, immoral, or just plain not nice, and you don’t get what you want, then you didn’t do anything wrong (unless you’re Catholic, of course, in which case – as my mother and George Carlin could tell you – it’s thought, word, and deed so we’re all going to hell). But if you’re a God-fearing Republican, then you’re covered (also, if you don’t get caught, don’t admit to anything, and then declare that even if you did do what you didn’t do, it’s OK because there was nothing illegal about doing it, and, anyway, everybody else does it, plus “Crooked Hillary”, am I right?).

Anyhow, I think it’s time for Jared to take Fredo Jr. out for a little ride in a rowboat, if you know what I mean. No sense in waiting for his mother (which one was she now? Number one, right?) to die. He’s even dumber than his old man, and that’s saying a lot.

You know, as bad as things are, thank goodness all the Republican players are dumber than a box of rocks. Imagine if these idiots were even marginally competent. I guess the GOP nomination process weeds out the competent people these days – when you have to appeal to the “base” and your base is a collection of inbred, mouth-breathing morons, you don’t exactly attract the cream of the crop. Not that the Democrats have much to crow about either. But at least most of them appear to be able to walk and chew gum at the same time.

UPDATE: Not to prove my point or anything, but…

Majority of Republicans Think College Has a Negative Impact, According to New Survey https://t.co/pFCoyZbOfD

— Dr. Will (@iamDrWill) July 12, 2017

It’ll be a miracle if we survive all this.

Today’s my wife’s anniversary, so wish her luck because as much as a pain in the ass as her husband’s been for the past 19 years, it doesn’t look like things will be getting any easier over the next 19. Yeah, hard to believe it’s only already been 19 years since I agreed to something or other that I couldn’t actually hear because they apparently decided to divert all air traffic over my in-law’s back yard. I guess I should have known something was up when I was told to wear a suit and there was a tent set up with food and stuff. As I recall there were a bunch of candles and a 90 mph wind that managed to set a lace tablecloth on fire, and then my fate was sealed.

I tried to look up what was going on back on July 11, 1998 (a Saturday), but I couldn’t find much of anything. A guy named Bill Clinton was President (ah, those were the days), Siggy wouldn’t be born until November, my mom was still alive (less than a year to go), and we were still surfing the web on a 56k dial-up connection (though in another month RoadRunner would become available in our neighborhood and that, as they say, changed everything). OJ was still a free man, Bill Cosby was still a beloved father figure, and Donald Trump was an asshole, but a relatively harmless asshole as long as you didn’t live in one of his properties or otherwise do any business with him.

About all I could find of interest for that date was an item that Jon Lovitz had been signed on to replace Phil Hartman on News Radio (hard to believe that was almost 20 years ago), former Packer’s running back Elijah Pitts died the day before at the age of 60 (which seem terribly young to me these days), and the current “hit” on US radio was “The Boy Is Mine” by Brandy & Monica – a song (and duo) I have absolutely zero memory of. The most interesting thing I can across was actually from three years earlier in the Chicago Tribune:

As many as 40 lingering people identified by police as fans of the Grateful Dead had an illegal nightcap early Wednesday morning at the revolving restaurant atop Chicago’s downtown Days Inn. The “Deadheads” sneaked into the Pinnacle restaurant, somehow started it rotating, “broke into the liquor cabinets and decided to have a party,” Det. Todd Roney said. Twenty people were arrested at 4:30 a.m. at the hotel, 644 N. Lake Shore Drive, and charged with theft, Roney said. In addition to charges of stealing $300 in booze, the Deadheads are accused of pilfering candles used for heating food. The bizarre break-in occurred on the heels of two sold-out weekend shows by the Dead at Soldier Field.

And from the follow-up a couple of days later:

Investigators said 20 people-about half the number who had commandeered the revolving restaurant atop the hotel-were arrested.

After allegedly stealing booze valued at $300 from liquor cabinets, members of the group figured out how to work the mechanism that got the dining room of the Pinnacle, a 33rd-floor banquet facility, to begin rotating.

The party ended when hotel security called the authorities, police spokesman Pat Camden said.

Those who couldn’t post bond became temporary guests at the East Chicago District station, as did a malamute belonging to one of the suspects.

Ha! I haven’t decided if the best part of that is that they got the revolving bar to start spinning, or that they had their dog with them.

Either way, typical deadheads. No violence, nothing destructive. Just wanted to have a few drinks and dig the view.

But no time to celebrate – hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to work we go.

Happy Anniversary, honey.

In the morning while I get up and eat my oatmeal and check the Internets, I’ve gotten accustomed to putting the teevee on on my computer. Once upon a time (prior to last November) I used to put the lo-cal news on but these days I find that horribly aggravating and not very good for my health (even though my BP seems to be good – kinda low most of the time, to be honest – doesn’t seem to be worth taking the risk of a blood vessel blowing out in my brain), so I tend to put on something easier on the mind. Usually one of the Science Channels, but occasionally I might watch one of the three flavors of Law and Order that are more or less on 24/7 (you can find all three in the AM as early as I get up). I think this will be ending in November when the price of PlayStation Vue goes up $10. It’s on the border of not being worth it to me at $35 a month – for $45, I don’t think so, and the promise of adding local channels isn’t worth it. But we’ll see – on the odd chance that SU Football doesn’t suck (again) this fall, I might keep it around for the sports.

Anyhow, the advantage here is that I can put on something mindless that I don’t really have to pay attention to (or in the case of the Science stuff, learn something), but that helps to drown out the voices in my head. The bad part is the fucking commercials – pretty much the same ones over and over again. Commercials and promos for other shows. I have no idea who this Kendra person is, or why anybody would give a shit about her or her mother who is apparently writing a “tell all” book about her. I don’t care about the trials and tribulations of the children of rap “stars” (that I’ve never heard of, because I’m old) who are “Growing Up Hip-Hop” (and, really, you think you’re gonna find your target audience for this by promoting it during the 5:00 AM showing of reruns of Law and Order: SVU?), and if I have to hear the British guy holler about the “spinnie turny cagey fiery thing” one more time, I think I’m gonna scream.

Then of course there are the auto insurance commercials, about accident forgiveness and how company X really “takes care of you” unlike the others. One woman says “you buy a new car and drive into a tree and now your insurance company wants to raise you rates. Maybe you should’ve done more research on your insurance company.” Yeah. Or maybe you shouldn’t have driven your car into a tree. Either way, if you think the business model for any of these companies is to give you free money from the goodness of their own hearts, then you’re nuts. It’s like “free” shipping – you’re paying for it, one way or another.

Then there’s the company that sends out a repair crew when your kid gets a flat tire in the middle of the night, because your kid doesn’t know a lug wrench from a pry bar. I hate to sound like grumpy old man, but, sorry, but if the kid doesn’t know how to change a tire, that’s on you. I don’t care if you’ve got AAA or even if you never actually have to do it, it’s something you need to know HOW to do, ‘cuz you just never know (which I’ve told the wife but, hey, why would she start listening to me now?). I mean, you really want to be waiting around for a tow truck in the middle of the night (when it’s about 20 below out) – or have to walk because you don’t have cell reception (which, admittedly, seems pretty unlikely these days – back in MY day, you’d have to walk to a pay phone or rely on the kindness of strangers).

I know my dad made sure my sister and I (and my brothers, too, I assume) knew how to change a tire – which in fact we had to do one time while out and about when I was maybe 8 years old and she was 17 or so. And I’ve changed more flats since then than I can count – even helping out a damsel (well, more of a dame than a damsel) in distress on my way home one time. I got filthy, but she did offer me $2, which I politely declined because I really wasn’t in it for the money.

There’s not a lot of wisdom us old-timers have left to impart upon these whippersnappers, but changing a tire ought to be one of them. I’ve often said that high school should include some basic survival skills – like basic auto repair, basic wiring, basic plumbing, that kind of stuff. If you’re lucky, you’ll never need it. But it’s nice to know what to do when a pipe bursts in your ceiling (hint – shut the water off, to the whole house if necessary. It at least stops the flood and gives you a chance to figure out what to do next).

Oh well, I guess I’ll get back to seeing how buttons are made.

Enjoy what’s left of your weekend.

Holidays that aren’t on Mondays or Fridays usually kind of suck. At least for those of us who weren’t able to take the preceding (or following) day off. Being on call this week, I fall into that category, so not only did I have to work yesterday (though I did it from home, which kinda took the edge off a bit), but I’m on call today (and, in fact, I’ve gotten one call so far that I had to deal with, and now I’ll be worried all night about what else might happen) so I couldn’t really do much of anything even if I was still the kind of person who actually did things. So I feel relatively fortunate that I don’t have any friends or plans to grill up some burgers and drink beer today. Mostly my plans involve wasting time going to Home Depot for shit they claimed to have in stock but didn’t, and then cobbling something else together that didn’t work either. So, yeah, so far so good. Later, I guess I’ll do some laundry and then of course get my lunch ready so I can go back to work tomorrow (where I have to attend a stupid meeting).

So, anyway, I’ve seen a bunch of the typical flag-waving, proud to be an American type sentiments expressed around the Internets (the US parts of it, anyway) today. I hope I’m not being a commie pinko blame America firster or anything, but, I gotta say, I’m not feeling a lot of pride. The US certainly has a list of great achievements (and plenty of things that we typically like to kind of overlook – like that whole Native American genocide thing, and slavery, and treatment of women, and, well, I won’t get into all that right now) in our relatively short history, but I can’t think of much we’ve done that’s admirable lately.

Frankly, if you look at where we are and where we appear to be headed, I’d have to say it’s all pretty depressing. I can’t think of anything to be proud of. Oh, there are individuals who are pretty admirable and inspiring, for sure. But as a whole? Let’s just say America aint the same America we at least used to pretend we were when I was growing up. Now we can’t even pretend to be anything but a fat, ignorant, greedy, mean-spirited, nihilistic wasteland. In fact, I think those are exactly the things that those flag-waving “patriots” out there take pride in.

And most of all, they’re proud that they elected their King.

Then again, maybe I’m just grumpy because I didn’t get much of a day off.

So, you’ve probably heard that soon to be former US Representative and all-around douchebag Jason Chaffetz of Utah has proposed a housing stipend for members of Congress of $2,500 per month. Because, hey, it’s hard to pay to live in DC and keep a home back home on their meager $174,000 a year salary. Never mind that, not including all their other perks, such as, pretty good health insurance and subsidies, free airport parking, free on-site gym, weakened insider trading restrictions – cha-ching! – 239 days a year off (for comparison purposes, a person with weekends off, 13 paid holidays – there are 10 Federal holidays, and most people don’t even get all of those, but anyway – and four weeks of paid vacation would get 104 + 13 + 20 = 137), $900,000 staff and $250,000 budget for travel and office expenses, great retirement plan, all the K-Street you can eat (and drink)…. Because, you know, Chaffetz (net worth back in 2008, anyway, of $5.6 million) has a point. If a “regular” person were to get elected, it would be tough for him or her to make ends meet. Plus this would, in his estimation, “save money” because he wouldn’t have to fly home for free every weekend (the way us regular people who have to take an out-of-state job do).

So, OK. But I’m sure the honorable mister Chaffetz wouldn’t want to just be doling out welfare, even if it is to mostly deserving white men. Obviously, we need to attach dome strings.

First off, rather than a stipend (which would cost $2,500 per month * 12 months * 535 members of Congress = $16,050,000 per year), I propose that we build or buy a dormitory-style residence for our destitute Congressional reps. For $16 million a year, we should be able to get a decent mortgage or even pay rent. I know of a lovely dormitory at Catholic University whose common bathroom/shower facilities would do wonders to foster the collegial atmosphere that seems to be so missing in today’s House of Representatives. And as a good Christian nation, we of course wouldn’t allow co-ed floors, so, like 9 floors for the boys and 2 floors for the girls ought to do it. I figure two to a room, but I guess we could go for triples and quads (hell, I lived in a quad when I was a freshman).

We’d also have to do means testing, of course. I mean, no reason to give millionaires a free ride (not in America, right?). You could work out the details, but some sort of sliding scale from free to, oh, I dunno – whatever the going rate for a dorm room in DC is. But they get their asses out when the semester ends and if they want to stay over the summer, that’s extra. And they can buy a meal plan, or eat someplace else. No microwaves or toaster ovens in the rooms, but they a can have coffee makers and a small refrigerator.

Also, no alcohol or cigarettes in the dorms, and regular, random drug testing (of course).

And since we’re providing all this, there will no longer be free air travel back and forth to the home (I mean, Chaffetz floated this idea as a money saver, and I take him at his word). And they can all take the metro to work. Maybe give them the student rate – we’ll have to see about that.

But, yeah, in principle, when it comes to subsidizing housing for the needy, I’m good with that.

But then I’m just a dirty liberal.

Happy Dad’s Day to all you dads out there, and those of you who have dads or are married to (or otherwise entangled with) a dad or dads. It’s yet another holiday where I’m pretty much off the hook these days, which is sad in some ways but somewhat liberating in others. We’ve had a hot weekend here, so there was a little bit of pool time (not enough to justify the expense of it all, but, hey, whatever), and it’s still pretty darn hot out there now, but that’s supposed to end with the dreaded severe thunderstorms that will scare the dog (trying to figure out how to time his doggie downers so that I can maybe get some sleep tonight – not that they actually put him down for the count, but they at least seem to prevent him from having a stroke), but hopefully not cause any damage (good thing we don’t live in the Bible Belt, where Jesus seems to like throwing a scare into people every now and again. I guess He just figures we’re too far gone for that). I keep getting these weather alerts on my phone, but you can never trust those things. In addition to the thunderstorms, they’re warning me of flash flooding. Well, the pool needs some water anyway. Other than the terrified dog, the weather doesn’t scare me. Nowhere near the thought of going to work tomorrow, anyway, which fills me with dread. If there’s anybody who wants to move with me to Lake Chapala, let me know. I hear the weather is near perfect year ’round, you can live pretty cheap, and they don’t actually hate Gringos. Plus I think they’ll be able to make their border wall payments directly to American ex-pats, so there’s some supplemental income to be had.

It’s Flag Day, and who doesn’t feel like going out there and waving Old Glory in celebration of our Dear Leader? I know I do. In fact, I find it incredibly unpatriotic that today isn’t a national holiday. In fact, the whole damn week ought to be – at least as long as there’s a Trump (or Trump-in-law) in the White House, which ought to keep up covered for the next, oh, I dunno, 31 years or so – which should pretty much be the end of me (if not of life as we know it). Plus there aren’t any holidays in June – a month (along with August), that is in desperate need of a holiday or two. Somebody needs to ask Uncle Vlad to get on this.

In other patriotic news, our glorious, um, what is he again? Attorney General. Yeah, our Attorney General, the honorable Jefferson Davis Beauregard Sessions III testified (sort of) before the Senate “Intelligence” Committee yesterday and either “nailed it” (if you’re a Trumpite) or obstructed the investigation – if not justice – (if you’re a sane, impartial observer). Which I guess means that either way, he “nailed it.”

When it comes to righteous indignation while lying through your teeth, nothing beats a Foghorn Leghorn wannabe. He should have had a couple of House Slaves (nope, not gonna go where Bill Maher went) fanning him with palm leaves and peeling grapes for him while he tried to overcome the vapors brought on by the mere suggestion that he “participated in any collusion or that [he] was aware of any collusion with the Russian government.”

I dare say, he fairly swooned.

Oh, and that WOMAN that somehow snuck into the proceeding! Somebody let their maid into the hearing and allowed her to pretend to be a senator. How disrespectful she was (and her name is KAMALA? WTF – that don’t sound American. I bet she’s a Mooslam).

At least the aptly named Republican Chairman Dick Burr set her straight. Or, to quote Foghorn Leghorn,

“Oh, that woman, got a mouth like an outboard motor.”

Well, enough of this jocularity. Time to get to work.

So Kathy Griffin held up a bloody, severed Trump head in a photo. I don’t know the context, if there was any, but I guess she was trying to be funny, and this wasn’t seen as funny by, really, anybody. To me, this is not surprise, because (while I confess to not being terribly familiar with her) I’ve rarely found Kathy Griffin to be particularly funny. I could be wrong – maybe she’s a real hoot. But anyway, this wasn’t funny, especially to the sensitive, in-touch with their feminine sides (that’s not a sexist thing to say these days, is it? If so, I apologize) Republicans (as opposed, to, say, kicking the shit out of a reporter, or hanging Obama in effigy, or depicting him as a witch doctor complete with nose bone, or any of those other truly high-sterical Ted Nugent utterances). But it also wasn’t particularly funny to me – if for no other reason than I despise looking at that ugly pig-orangutan hybrid’s puss, whether it’s attached to his shoulders or not. It also wasn’t funny because it gave the jack-booted Konservatives an opportunity to express faux outrage and blather on about how awful “Liberals” are – as if this Kathy Griffin person represents all Liberals and liberal ideas.

I will give some grudging respect to Trump, however. He tweeterated (I guess) that his 11-yr old son was reduced to a quivering pile of jelly because he thought that Griffin had literally beheaded deal old dad. Say what you want, but it has to be tough for Mucho Macho Donno to admit his son is apparently a rather stupid crybaby wimp. Probably spends too much time with his mother (or maybe his nanny). Had somebody done similar related to my dad when I was 11 (and, keep in mind, this was well before the Internet or Photoshop was in invented, and stop-action claymation and puppetry – complete with visible wires – was the epitome of special effects, so something this “real” looking would have had much more of an impact), I’d have probably been pretty pissed and I might have felt a desire to punch somebody in the nose or go all “Billy Jack” on their asses (at least, in my childish little mind), but I can pretty much guarantee you I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to think it was real and it wouldn’t have made me want to cry.

So good for Donald admitting that his boy is a clueless little wimp (like father, like son) that probably plays with dolls (as opposed to the “action figures” I played with as a kid, which are clearly much more manly, though if pressed I’ll admit to taking my sister’s Barbi – and Ken – dolls out for a spin. Mostly, I enjoyed blowing up my little green – and blue – army men. And napalming them – except I used gasoline – and watching them melt. One tip for you aspiring young pyromaniacs out there – don’t fill an empty soda can up with gasoline and then light it to recreate the Olympic flame. That can gets really hot, really fast, and when you drop said can on the driveway and then attempt to extinguish the flames with a garden hose, it only spreads the flames all across the driveway. Which, I have to admit, is a rather impressive sight once you get over the sheer panic. Ah, those were the days).

Of course, this stunt also wasn’t funny because it distracts everyone (everyone being the collective mental giant known as “We the People”) from what’s truly important. As if the world didn’t already think we were all a bunch of rubes, now Trump has (as expected) pulled us out of the Paris accord (that the rest of the world bent over backwards to negotiate to US specifications just to get us on board).

Our (as in, the United States’) rather brief turn as that shining beacon to be both looked up to (to the extent that we ever were – there’s probably as much or more myth to that idea than there is truth) and respected is more or less over. The Visigoth’s have sacked the capital, Christianity has undermined all we’ve stood for (or at least pretended), Romulus has fallen, and Odoacer sits on the throne.

Oh, we’ve still got nukes and enough of an economy that the world will continue to pay a certain amount of lip service to us. We’ll get invited to all the best parties – but they’ll all be laughing at us behind our backs.

At least until this asshole President our ours and his asshole buddies in Congress and the Supreme Court get done raping and pillaging here at home and decide to invade somebody in order to boost their ratings.

That’ll teach Kathy to make Barron cry.

Words cannot adequately describe how I feel to be back at work today. I was kind of counting on our President declaring today a national holiday in honor of the life and death of one of his heroes and role models, Manuel Noriega. Maybe next year.

But, man, this is gonna be a tough day.

Frtzi was all upset this morning, what with dark skies and impending rain, I guess (I dunno, maybe he’s sensitive to low pressure systems or something). I tried to give him a couple of “happy” pills that I scored from the vet at his last appointment (haven’t had the opportunity to try them yet) before I left, in peanut butter, but he wouldn’t take them. I didn’t have time to figure out an alternative, so I guess he’s on his own. And I’m stuck with a couple of peanut butter smeared pills that will probably be turned to mush by the time I get home.

And the really heave storms are slated to arrive this afternoon and tonight. Oh boy.

I’m already somewhat sleep-deprived (and even grumpier than I’d normally be coming off a three-day weekend), because he got all upset last night due to it being breezy out, or something. I don’t know – it really wasn’t violently windy or anything, so I don’t know what his problem was. All I know is I had to get up with them all (because, you know, the only time you can get just one culled from the herd is when you want all three), let them all out to bark at the deer or whatever nocturnal critters were lurking around out there, and then close all the windows so he hopefully wouldn’t hear whatever it was that was bothering him.

So, needless to say (so why say it, right?), not much sleep for me. And worse, now I’m at work and in a pretty foul mood, I must say (though I hide it well). Good thing I shouldn’t have to interact with many people (I pity the fool who comes and disturbs the sanctity of my cube). Just the shuttle bus driver this morning, who’s such a pleasant kid, it’s tough to be an angry old man around her, and the other regular morning shuttle passenger, who is nice enough and probably about as thrilled as I am to be back at work today.

I’d already pretty much decided to take Friday off and about halfway up the stair this morning, I made the executive decision to tack Thursday on as well (assuming nothing comes up between now and then, of course – but I need to strike while I’m not on call). So I just need to get through a day in my prison cube today, work from home tomorrow, and then I can relax and look forward to how thrilled I’ll be to walk in the door next Monday.

Just please, let me get through this day.