Category: Bidness

The straight poop

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 10 Comments
The Shit Show! Coming to a … well, it’s already here. Has been since Jan. 20.

Is there a wall left unbeshitted in the Benighted States? If he flings it, it might stick?

“Department of Defense” to be rebranded as “War Department?” OK, one syllable instead of two, so I suppose he might be able to say it without drooling all over his tie. And he could even spell it, maybe. The first word, anyway. If someone spots him the “W” and the “r.”

But when his country wanted him to go to war Cadet Bonespurs was all about playing defense, right here at home.

Hundreds of Koreans ICEd at the construction site of a Hyundai-LG battery plant in Georgia as our two nations struggle to negotiate one of his fabled “deals?” Are these the drug mules with cantaloupe-size calves that screeching racist dipshit Steve King was raving about when some folks — the press, mostly — gave a runny shit what he thought or had to say?

No, this lot had to cross an ocean instead of a river. Talk about your “bad hombres.”

And taking over the 9/11 memorial and museum in New York City? Which commemorate a disaster in which he did … fuck-all? Other than jack his jaw in complete and utterly pampered safety, like the REMF he is and always will be, that is.

Damn. Those Epstein files must really be the shit. He’d bomb Harvard to keep that story out of the news cycle.

Democracy dies, yadda yadda yadda

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 19 Comments
Slogans, like talk, are cheap.

Ho, ho. I beat the rush to the exit after The Washington Post‘s management stepped on its editorial dick by declining to endorse a candidate in the pestilential erection. I had already canceled my account based on the plummeting value of their homepage, not the cowardice of the ownership.

Not long ago the WaPo was beating The New York Times like a dusty rug when it came to good, old-fashioned, nut-cutting hard news. Now they pretty much both stink, but at least Mother Times offers some good recipes to take the vile smell out of your nostrils. Plus she still employs a friend of mine.

So I’ll try to forget that the topside of today’s homepage is spattered with shit like “25 Jump Scares That Still Make Us Jump,” “What’s It Like to Tail the Vice President?,” and “Nobody Told Me This Would Happen to My Body in My 40s.”

I’d serve up a critique of the content, if I had clicked on any of it. Alas, I moved on with great haste.

At least the NYT doesn’t start bullshitting you right up there in the flag, like the WaPo. “Democracy Dies in Darkness,” me bollocks. What management does in the darkness you can see in the balcony at any adult theater. Tidy up afterward and check the phone to see if anyone Bezos has business with has invited you to a cocktail party. No? Might as well go lay off a few columnists, if they haven’t all quit already. Only one opinion counts at the newspaper in the nation’s capital, even if it’s mostly being expressed from mansions in Miami, SoCal, or low earth orbit.

Of course, if Jesus Hitler prevails on Nov. 5, it won’t mean much to the WaPo’s owner. Bezos is a podium billionaire, runner-up on the Bloomberg Billionaires Index. And when JH (No. 432) croaks any and all contracts with Blue Origin because Elon (No. 1) was the last guy in the Oval Office to kiss his ass when the deal went down, well … maybe the internment camps can double as Amazon fulfillment centers.

Hey, a dollar isn’t red or blue. It’s green, baby.

Your Daily Don: Follow the leader

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 5 Comments
“Paul Krugman? How many divisions has he got?” (h/t Winston Churchill, “The Gathering Storm.”)

Almost all economists agree that taxes on imports are, in fact, passed on to consumers. Why? Because that’s what the evidence says, and it’s very hard to come up with an alternative story.

On the other hand, Trump loyalists — which these days means almost the entire Republican Party — insist as a group that foreigners, not American consumers, pay taxes on imports. Why? Because Donald Trump says so. — Paul Krugman, “Trumpism, Stalinism and the Tariff Debate.”

Big wheel keeps on turnin’

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 13 Comments

The Celestial Gardener is fixin’ to turn on the sprinklers.

Kind of a gloomy morning — we got a wee bit of drizzle last evening, and there’s more in the forecast.

If that pulls a Team Cinzano on the old bikey ridey for a couple of days it’s tough titty for Your Humble Narrator because The Duck! City’s flora and fauna need the moisture. Just because the feds and the Colorado Water Compact states are talking to each other doesn’t mean they’re listening.

Also, weather like this is why Odin invented SKS fenders. And running shoes.

In other news:

• The Journal devoted a little ink to the demise of the Bike Coop; nothing we didn’t already know, but still, damn.

• Another item you’ve probably already seen: A lone cyclist heckles the Patriot Front peacocks in DeeCee and a grateful nation thanks him. If you haven’t seen it yet, be sure to check out the video. The PF parade looks like a community-college production of “Springtime for Hitler” in Gator Bait, Florida.

• And finally, Save the Elena Gallegos wins a second round in its battle with The Duck! City over its plan to erect a “visitor/education center” in our beloved open space, where Your Humble Narrator frequently recreates. The place gets plenty visitors as it is and we have the Internets for education, thanks all the same.

Friday mornin’ comin’ down

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments

Leaving on a jet plane. Not Herself, but it will do
for purposes of illustration.

Herself is out of town, and Miss Mia and I are out of sorts.

Ours is a fragile ecosystem, especially Miss Mia’s little corner of it. You give her output, she’ll give you input, and plenty of it, especially if she catches you napping on the job.

“Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeowwwwwwww!”

“Hold my calls, stand by, and await further instructions.”

As Nick Nolte told Frank McRae in “48 Hrs,” “Yeah, I hear you, your voice carries.”

When we’re fully staffed, Herself takes the early shift. She gets up at stupid-thirty, feeds and waters and amuses Her Majesty, and then goes about her business while Miss Mia takes a nap.

I get the second shift, which starts a couple hours later. I feed and water and amuse Her Majesty, and then go about my business while Miss Mia takes a nap.

Then we tag team the rest of the day, which is mostly a breeze because hey, she’s a cat. Miss Mia requires about 20 hours of beauty sleep per diem.

But if one of us goes somewhere for a few days, it’s Katie bar the door. Double shifts, weird hours, and negative performance reviews. My first writeup came around 3 this morning.

“Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeowwwwwwww!”

It’s gonna be a long shift in the barrel. “Yeah, I hear you, your voice carries.”