Archive for the ‘Casual snark’ Category

Oh, SNAP

February 14, 2018

Mister Boo needs a bib. And a brain transplant. And a butt plug.

It’s Valentine’s Day. The Turk’ sounded Reveille, Herself gave me a kiss, Mia offered a series of head bumps, and The Boo laid a turd in the kitchen as I was fixing him a delicious snack.

Got a bit of it on your chin, there, didn’t you, old fella? The party, it never stops.

Speaking of defecation, I see the Swamp Thing wants to take a crap on SNAP. Given the fiscal discipline displayed by this lot I expect those “Harvest Boxes” are likely to contain nothing more nourishing than IOUs.

Maybe they can be printed on rice paper. We can pretend it’s cake.

 

Of plagues and houses

January 22, 2018

Majority Leader Mitch McConnell addresses the Imperial Senate.

Herself is not manning (womanning?) her post at the Death Star today.

It’s not the Feddle Gummint Shutdown. As I understand it, the outfit has enough cash in the till to stay open for a couple weeks, if the Imperial Senate can keep it up that long for purposes of jerking off.

Nah, she just has that bug that’s been making the rounds. Seems everybody has had some class of the creeping crud lately, and I’m really hoping to avoid my annual dunking in the booger pool. Old dogs need their sleep, and staying up all night coughing is not conducive to the bagging of the Z’s.

Thus there is much drinking of the hot tea, and consumption of fruit, and if the temps crack the freezing point I may go out and pound ground for an hour, try to put The Fear into those cooties. It beats watching The Turtle rub one out.

Movie Monday

November 13, 2017

In which we learn that an hour on the patio listening to birdsong beats a day wasted reading tweets from twatwaffles.

 

Turkocalypse Now

October 22, 2017

I’m here a week now, waiting for a mission … getting softer.

Every minute I stay in this box, I get weaker, and every minute Donnie squats over a putt … well, I’m guessing he farts.

Jailhouse rocks with turkey

March 11, 2017

I’m goin’ down. I’m goin’ down, down, down, down, down.

I’m still not very interested in what I have to say about anything, possibly because I just wrapped one deadline and am wrangling another.

Plus the weather has been, in a word, top notch (OK, so that’s two words, but you get the idea). So I’ve been spending a whole lot of my free time outdoors. Yesterday I ran in the morning and rode in the afternoon. Fat city, is what.

So while I slack, feel free to kick back and sing along with some of today’s greatest hits, unearthed between bouts of work and play.

• If You Don’t Have a Dime, Don’t Do the Crime: Deep-pockets offenders can buff the rough edges off their jailhouse stays in Southern California. Says a guy paying $100 a night for a 90-day stretch for driving while smacked (it was his third DUI): “I’m really happy I was able to come here. But you need the money to do it.” Everybody sing!

• Make America Gravel Again! The cash-strapped folks in Omaha City Hall have been “reclaiming” some crumbling roads — if your idea of reclamation involves helping them crumble all the way down to gravel to cut upkeep costs. Kids quit riding their bikes on one street after the asphalt was torn out, said one retiree living next to what is now a dirt road a block from a busy Starbucks. “During the summer, it’s just a dust bowl,” she said. Everybody sing!

• It’s Nobody’s Business But the Turks’. Seems Mike Flynn was working for two turkeys at once during last year’s pestilential election. Which one came first? Sounds like a turkey-and-egg tale, or maybe a porno. Everybody sing!