DeeCee being a rather long slog via Subaru, I decided I’d settle for a short mood-altering run on the neighborhood trails yesterday.
I won’t travel by air, as you know. And if I did, the airline probably wouldn’t let me take my torch and pitchfork, even as checked baggage.
Anyway, what do I know about taxidermy? Sure, I could collect a few souvenir heads in our nation’s capital with my handy-dandy Gomboy folding saw, but then what? The TSA says you can board a plane with fresh meat, but they may decide to add a cautionary note about “the severed heads of Supreme Court justices” after running your lumpy carry-on through the scanner twice because they didn’t believe what they saw on the first pass.
And if you do manage to make it home without incident, preserving and mounting your prizes for display in the den is not a chore you want to hand off to anyone who doesn’t owe you a really big favor.
Shucks, even a six-pack of ears pinned to a cork board in the garage can make for some pointed conversations you’d rather not have, even if you explain that the fuckers never used them for listening, only to keep their trifocals from falling into their black robes or onto the bench, and anyway, with the fat stacks of attaboys they get from their rich pals they can have a new pair grafted on before you can say, “Case dismissed.”
So, yeah. Herself and I went for a nice trail run in the sunshine, and afterward I decided I was still not in the mood to update myself on the latest news, so I changed costumes and took the Voodoo Wazoo for an enjoyable 90 minutes of light gnar-shredding in the Elena Gallegos Open Space.
Today I see the courtroom drama has shifted back to Manhattan. Time for another run. I can’t remember where I put that saw.
Mad Blog Media 
Life time appointments and a life time asshole. Two problems but only one ending.
They said they were behind us, and we felt them there, many times. Many, many of them.
As I told my better half, it is better to concentrate on what you can control rather than get spun up over shit that you have no power to influence. One reason my stress levels have gone down is I stopped charging at all of those windmills.
Word. The only power we have over these politicians is our vote, but they are working very hard to take that away. If they are successful, what we see happening now is child’s play compared to what they have in mind to do to us “citizens.” Especially us sick and evil vermin.
I’m still a firm believer in making a ruckus. I try not to overdo it here, because there’s too much of it pouring in from all points of the compass. But some evildoers equate silence with approval. So I’ll holler “BULLSHIT!” now and then from the cheap seats.
That is something to emulate. When someone asks me now if I would vote for rump, I say if the asshole was on fire across the street from me, I wouldn’t bother to cross and piss on him.
An even filthier version of that one goes: “I wouldn’t piss down his throat if his heart were on fire.”
I just saw an article on Daily Kos that Trump Tower might go the NYCHA to be converted to low-income housing, which would hurt Mango Mussolini more than life in prison, knowing that “poor people” would be taking a dump in his gold toilets.
That would keep him awake, for sure. Court doesn’t seem to be doing the trick.
Hollering BULLSHIT now and then or even frequently is fine. Standoff comments are fine. Grassroots stuff where you can make a difference is sometimes fine. Even that can be a problem. The three years we worked on the bike-ped maintenance ordinance up here almost went down the shitter because some on Council don’t want to do line item budgets but do things ad hoc. And then surprise, the money is not there. We got half a loaf but it was a pain in the ass.
Doing the deep dive into big problems (abortion, guns, elections, Gaza, etc) is frustrating; you soon realize you are pissing into a gale force wind and small wonder your pants are all wet. I got halfway through the legislative session and decided I was getting myself literally sick and said fuck it. If you have a million bucks to hand out, you would have people listening to your every fart and calling it music. Politics is all about money and tribalism.
George Carlin called it right. This place was bought and sold a long time ago. All we are doing is scrounging for the undigested corn kernels among the turds.