The email read: ” Hi Patrick, the status of your order has changed to Awaiting fulfillment.“
Well. Join the club. Cult. Whatevs.
I wasn’t waiting for the electrician or someone like him. Just waiting on delivery of a product I’d ordered online because it was not to be found locally.
An earlier online transaction had gone walkabout, wandering from Abilene to Albuquerque only to pull a U and mosey right on back to Texas, where it reversed course yet again and returned to Albuquerque. Not to me, mind you. Just somewhere here in town. Me, I was passing the time watching bots, banks, and Budget rent-a-vans with Oklahoma plates perform “The Dance of Late-Stage Capitalism.”
In Chicago they have been awaiting a delivery of another sort altogether. National Guardspersons from Texas. “Be All That You Can Be,” the ads used to say. If this is all you can be, try harder. Fulfillment is elusive. I mean, I wanted to be a rich and famous political cartoonist and just look how that turned out.
Job fairs like a recent Immigration and Customs Enforcement extravaganza in Texas seem popular among a certain subset of job-seekers. More so than, oh, say, working in America’s agricultural industry, replacing the people the ICEholes are dragging off to Christ only knows where.
“I’m looking for a career, not a job,” says a 25-year-old would-be masked avenger from San Antone, a contract worker in the solar-energy industry, one cross around his neck and two more in his ears.
Ho ho. A “career” in the very government being stripped for salable parts like a stolen Honda Civic in a chop shop. A fine place to be awaiting fulfillment. And ICE couldn’t care less if you’re a former sergeant at arms for an outlaw motorcycle club, or just look like one. Say, are those Iron Crosses in your ears? And is that a “Blut und Boden” tat? You got a signing bonus coming, son!
You’re gonna need those fat stacks Big Gummint is promising you, Bubba. Have you checked the price of groceries lately with the workforce gone walkabout? If you were an humble farmworker, just trying to feed America’s families and your own, you might could swipe a peach now and then for yourself.
Mad Blog Media 
Or as Bruce Cockburn once sang, “The trouble with normal is it always gets worse”
Paul for president?
“That’ll get me kicked out of my family. …” Hee, and also haw.
In his 2007 special “Too Real,” Marc Maron — who will be croaking his WTF podcast after next week — addressed a number of the issues with Mango Mussolini v1.0, such as:.
Boy howdy, are they ever.
I don’t care if it rains or freezes
Long as I got my Cheeto Cheesus
Stuck on the dashboard of my car
What a friend we have in Cheeto,
Christ almighty what a pal. …
Man, I hadn’t heard that Cockburn piece in forever. This version reminds me quite a bit of Zappa at his finest.
Mr. Zappa and Mr. Carlin would have something to say about the current state of affairs. They and my parents who left Germany in 1937 are lucky to be dead and not see the newspapers.
Some of Carlin’s heirs are too busy bringing the yuks to Saudi Arabia to notice what’s going on right here at home.
I’m particularly disappointed in Bill Burr for taking that blood money. He’s reliably funny as hell and I doubt he needs the dough. But who can say how much is enough?
John Mayer knows the answer to that question.
Fulfillingness, Awareness, Knowingness, Eliot NESS.
Boy could we use Eliot NESS! A few well placed G-men in the cabinet to reel in those gangsters and their bimbos posing as AG’s, HS leaders and other hair extension decorations.
Hair extension decoration! He shoots, he scores!
It’s hard to ID the lippiest twat in this administration.
Actually, no, it’s not. The orange fool at the top takes the gold, as one might expect. Reichstag Barbie is a strong runner-up with Sec’y Kegsbreath rounding out the podium.
Boy, he must be grinding his teeth at the state of the porkers in the Lone Star National Guard as they prepare to invade Chicago’s deep-dish-pizza places. It’ll take at least two trips for those fatbodies to haul ass.