Famous sperm donor Elon Muskhat is returning to fucking up his companies instead of fucking up the government, according to The Atlantic.
And not a moment too soon.
Nobody is compelled to deal with this asshole’s companies. But it’s kind of hard to avoid dealing with the government. It’s always telling you where you can’t hike, or fucking poor people while blowing the Pentagon, or shipping your neighbors off to the Sheik of Yerbouti for challenging new careers as rare-earth miners and/or sexytime playthings.
He’s got his own town in Texas, I hear. Let him fuck that place up for a while.
The Wicked Witch of the White House thinks Beelzebozo can chant “Habeas corpus!” and make people disappear.
Uh, no.
If I were the secretary of homeland security and I couldn’t even secure my purse at a burger joint, I might keep my pancaked, plumped-up piehole shut for a spell.
I hope Sen. Maggie Hassan was wearing gloves when she handed this bimbo’s ass to her. Oz only knows what she’s been up to with those flying monkeys.
Monday is a watering day. But the forecast called for rain, so early this morning I went out to shut off the irrigation system.
“Huh,” I thought. “Doesn’t look like rain to me.” So I left it on.
Monday is also Geezer Ride Day. So, naturally about the time the watering was done, the clouds started creeping in and the wind began ramping up.
“Huh,” I thought. “Better bail on the ride.” Which I did.
Monday is not Grocery Day. That would be Sunday. But I blew off Sunday’s grocery shopping for a two-hour bike ride in the wind plus a meet-and-greet with the mayor and a few dozen of his supporters.
So suddenly Monday was Grocery Day. And off I toddled to the Sprouts at Tramway and Central, en route nearly getting croaked by a street racer who roared up behind me in the right lane, then shot into the left and around me, barely missing both me and the dude slightly ahead of me in the left lane.
He then swerved onto the shoulder to pass everyone else in sight at about 25 mph over the 50-mph limit, which encouraged another jackass to do likewise, scattering dust, gravel, and debris from previous eejit-triggered crashes across the traffic lanes.
It happened so fast, in so much traffic, that I couldn’t grab the iPhone for a shot of either license plate. And it wasn’t the first time I’d wished I had some other sort of shooter with a tad more authority, like a Browning Hi-Power or a Colt 1911. I mean, you can’t AirDrop one or both of the silly sonsabitches.
Anyway, I got to the grocery without being killed to death, and only then did I notice that I’d left my grocery list at home.
“Huh,” I thought. “Maybe I can do it off the old internal hard drive.”
And I did! Didn’t miss a single item, and even picked up a bonus packet of ground turkey for a chili con carne in case the weather turned ugly.
Which of course it did, since I’d decided earlier to water the lawn. Our widget makes it 0.08 inch of precip slashing down sideways out of the north, and I expect that statistic does not include the hail.
“Huh,” I thought. “I suppose a run is out.” Which it was.
So instead of running, since a few of you seemed to enjoy our little Tour of Memory Lane, I decided to spend a couple hours collecting and posting PDFs of a few of my Adventure Cyclist reviews.
Naturally, I couldn’t find the one about the Rivendell Sam Hillborne, the bike I was riding in yesterday’s wind-fest (13 mph with gusts to 23). If I recall correctly, that one didn’t make the print magazine, but was posted to the Adventure Cyclist blog, where it languishes behind the membership paywall.
“Huh,” I thought. “I bet I have my original copy on another Mac.” And I do.
But I’m not gonna post it. Not yet. I got chili to cook.
And mind you, I thought they were plenty fuckin’ dumb.
So, former FBI director James Comey posts a pix of seashells on a beach arranged to spell “86 47,” the first two digits of which any old retired copy editor knows mean “refuse to serve” and/or “eject or ban.”
And Kristi Kreme, Tulsi Gobshite and Cash Patel get their tactical boxers in a Kevlar bunch and screech that he’s calling for Beelzebozo’s assassination and/or “issuing a hit” on him.
It’s like an unfunny reboot of “Get Smart,” with Mel Gibson at the helm instead of Mel Brooks. Linus had a better security blanket than this.
Screenshot lifted from NM Sen. Martin Heinrich’s website.
Another day, another steaming heap of some punk-ass shit.
Dr. Carla D. Hayden — the first woman and first African-American to head the Library of Congress — got the ol’ heave-ho yesterday in a curt, two-sentence email from Trent Morse, deputy director of White House personnel (see above).
New Mexico Sen. Martin Heinrich, the top Democrat on the Appropriations Subcommittee on the Legislative Branch, hit the high points of the doctor’s curriculum vitae for us and had a few thoughts of his own on her unceremonious dismissal:
“President Trump fired our nation’s Librarian, Dr. Carla Hayden, by email at 6:56pm tonight, taking his assault on America’s libraries to a new level.
“Over the course of her tenure, Dr. Hayden brought the Library of Congress to the people, with initiatives that reached into rural communities and made the Library accessible to all Americans, in person and online.
“While President Trump wants to ban books and tell Americans what to read – or not to read at all, Dr. Hayden has devoted her career to making reading and the pursuit of knowledge available to everyone.
“Be like Dr. Hayden.”
I can’t wait for the day when we get to give the shove to these chickenshit vandals. Two sentences? Try two words: “Fuck off.”
In the meantime, I suppose we can look forward to seeing Enrique Tarrio sworn in as Dr. Hayden’s replacement. The recently pardoned seditionist needs a job of work, and who knows? He may have checked out a few “Punisher” comic books from the prison library when he wasn’t busy finking for the John Laws.
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