Right in the eggs

Cool with a side of clouds.

Whew. Looks like I picked a good week to go on a news fast. These pendejos are pitching fastballs. At this pace there won’t be a wall without shit running down it before Valentine’s Day. A lot of it won’t stick, but it’s gonna pile up. The forecast calls for deep doo.

My news fast coincided with a cold snap that kept me off the bike. I don’t object to cycling in the 30s if the sun’s out, but when Tōnatiuh abdicates in favor of Ehecatl, it’s time to go for a run.

Thing is, I’m not a runner. Not really. A runner certainly wouldn’t call me one. Especially if s/he’d caught me at it.

I can pretend for 45 minutes but that’s about it. And that doesn’t burn a lot of daylight for a fella trying to avoid the doomscrolling.

Still, I managed. For about four days. Who can avert his or her eyes while passing a domestic disturbance in daylight or an unshaded window at night? This is like driving past a five-car crash without checking the gutters for rolling heads.

So I eased back in, slowly. A little Kevin Drum. Then a bit of Charlie Pierce. This is akin to reading the police report, if Joseph Wambaugh wrote it. The Atlantic, for a soupçon of button-down viewing with alarm.

Finally, I hit the hard stuff. The New York Times. Holy shit, etc.

I hope the rubes who elected this bozo are enjoying the shitshow. Looks like it’ll be a good long while before he gets those egg prices down.

King me, bitches

“Are we done? I have a 10 a.m. tee time.”

I don’t know about you folks, but every time a judge wanted to sentence me for something, I had to, like, be in court, an’ shit.

Tell me again about the whole “rule of law” thing. And then show me the tab for treating Nazi Jesus like he was some senile old fool who just “forgot” that he tried to walk out of the store with the whole country in his pocket.

Fuck me. Arlo Guthrie got tossed in the clink and fined $50 for illegally dumping garbage in Stockbridge, Mass. Nazi Jesus took a dump on the entire United States of America and he’ll be cheating on the front nine before noon Florida time.

And come Jan. 20, he’ll take his act on the road, to the White House.

Just another day at Alice’s Restaurant for this guy. He can get anything he wants. Excepting Alice.

Post this, yo

A snippet of the Ann Telnaes cartoon that the WaPo found objectionable. | © Ann Telnaes

Salud to cartoonist Ann Telnaes, who quit The Washington Post after a cartoon critical of Management — and by Management, I mean Jeff Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg, Sam Altman, Patrick Soon-Shiong, and Mickey Fuckin’ Mouse, who are all managing to affix their chapped lips to the Pestilence-Erect’s ass at once — got croaked by the WaPo’s editorial-page bots.

At her Substack HQ, Telnaes explains:

As an editorial cartoonist, my job is to hold powerful people and institutions accountable. For the first time, my editor prevented me from doing that critical job. So I have decided to leave the Post. I doubt my decision will cause much of a stir and that it will be dismissed because I’m just a cartoonist. But I will not stop holding truth to power through my cartooning, because as they say, “Democracy dies in darkness.”

Ho, ho. “Just a cartoonist.” Telnaes knows, as I do, that a sharp pen can puncture a gasbag as thoroughly as a sword, and encourages onlookers to snicker at the well-deserved deflation.

As Boss Tweed once said after getting righteously stuck by cartoonist Thomas Nast:

“Let’s stop those damned pictures. I don’t care so much what the papers write about me — my constituents can’t read, but damn it, they can see pictures.”

I kinda wish I still had a WaPo subscription to cancel. Mebbe I’ll sign back up so I can cancel the fucker again.

See Mike Peterson at The Daily Cartoonist for more about Telnaes and her stellar work.

Look on the bright side

Heads up. …

After the results of the pestilential erection came in I decided to leave our Halloween lights up through Christmas.

It was just my way of saying “Jesus Christ!”

I may leave them up until the results of the next pestilential erection come in. Assuming we have another one, that is.

My little boneheads are considerably brighter than the MAGA dimbulbs, but those low-wattage loudmouths may actually be more illuminating in at least one respect. They provide a daily reminder that we must walk some distance in darkness.

Rather than curse that darkness, I light my candles. They have their joke, and I have mine.

Happy holidays from Herself, Miss Mia Sopaipilla, and Your Humble Narrator.