If you can’t change the channel, open a window, f’fucksake.
On this date last year, Beelzebozo became the first former president to be convicted of a felony — 34 felony counts, to be precise — stemming from a scheme to illegally influence the 2016 election through hush-money payments to a porn actor who said the two of them did The Nasty.
Less than six months later he won re-election to the presidency.
Some of the 77,302,580 Americans who voted for him probably thought they were pulling the lever for a Republican candidate. But what they actually pulled was his stubby little finger.
And on Jan. 20 of this year, the Great Rumbling began.
Small wonder the weather has been so unsettled.
When it comes to dealing with an asshole of this magnitude, there just ain’t enough air freshener in the world.
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.
Headlined “The Church of the Open Road” — perhaps a riff on “The Church of the Rotating Mass,” which may be a Maurice “Dirt Rag” Tierney creation — it’s McCann’s recollection of a bike tour some four decades ago. On the road to nowhere, or so he thought when he set out.
A Catholic when he began, he encountered tiny Louisiana chapels and Texas megachurches, Southern Baptists and holy rollers (no pun intended). Slept in a pew, worked in a church camp. Inclined to listening, open to revelation, he collected stories as he went.
I won’t spoil this story by summarizing it. Give it a read.
Also, cast not your eyes upon the illustration. There may be some hidden meaning in there, but if so, it is obscured by a lack of historical verisimilitude. Forty years ago bicycles had neither integrated brake/shift levers nor disc brakes (especially not on the drive side). They did, however, have chainrings (and chains), freewheels, pedals, and external cables.
A journey of a thousand miles may begin with a single pedal stroke. But for Christ’s’ sake, you gotta have the pedals.
I see The Media have a couple new chew toys this morning — a brain-dead SecDef and a completely dead pope.
That should fill The Void for a nanosecond or two.
Now we await the various conclaves. If we see black smoke from the Pentagon, that means that SecDef Yog-Sothoth has burned his Signal passwords and has gone back to using NextDoor for all secure communications involving war plans, pub crawls, and no-strings hookups.
White smoke means that Baby Daddy Musk has sent him on ahead to set up shop on Mars.
Red smoke from the Office of the Vice President means that Hillbilly Boy has failed to convince his god that he had nothing to do with his pope’s death, even though he was one of the last people to see him alive.
Fwooosh! Straight From servicing Beelzebozo to serving Beelzebub in one seriously hot DeeCee minute. Not exactly upward mobility, is it? Sure as shit ain’t the golden escalator Beelzebozo rode down back in 2015, either. More like that elevator ride that Mickey Rourke took at the end of “Angel Heart.”
And the pope? Well … Dad was a ring-kisser, Mom was a Presbyterian, and I turned out to be neither. So I haven’t paid much attention to Holy Mother Church since 1978, when I was still a newspaperman in Bibleburg and we burned through a couple of popes in a month.
If I recall correctly, which is unlikely considering the circumstances, we had finished newspapering for the evening and had retired to Jinx’s Place for cocktails.
A late arrival burst in, as they will do, and told us the pope had just died.
“Catch up,” we replied. “That was last month.”
“That was the old guy,” our informant revealed. “This was the new guy.”
And soon we had a new new guy, to be dubbed “J2P2,” because back then newspaper people knew how to treat anyone who claimed to speak with God’s voice, whether they were in Vatican City or DeeCee.
Mad Blog Media 