The ballroom bunker and slush fund for scumbags apparently were not the delightful amuse-bouche Admiral Palsy thought they would be, and the usual congressional dine-and-dash going into a weeklong recess was downsized to a dash, period.
Well! No dessert for you lot. Yo, Rubio! Send this shit soufflé to Vance with my compliments. That shameless hoor will eat anything and smile while he does it.
They say that money Can’t buy love in this world But it’ll get you a half-pound of cocaine And a 16-year old girl And a great big long limousine On a hot September night Now that may not be love But it is all right. — Randy Newman, ‘It’s Money That I Love’
More than a few folks in the media have expressed surprise that NASA’s reboot of a flyby round the moon hasn’t engaged more eyeballs.
Huh. Well. …
It could have something to do with the fact that we are at wa … pardon, on “an excursion” … in the Middle East. Again.
Or that a third-tier reality-TV character put us there, when he wasn’t busy cheating at golf, stenciling his accursed name on everything, and/or lying through his false teeth.
We’ve cracked the $4 mark here in ABQ.
Maybe the suckers that voted for him are too busy trying to squeeze their eyeballs back into their sockets after a glance at the latest gas prices, or a peek at his 2027 wish list for the Pentagon — $1.5 trillion, about a 40 percent jump from the last military-industrial goodie bag.
Can’t have guns and butter, of course, so better learn to like your toast dry. If you still have the bread to buy bread.
Me, I still like watching our tentative steps at space exploration. We caught the burn that took Artemis II — or Orion, Integrity, whatever the fuck this thing is called, Christ, no wonder nobody’s paying any attention to it — out of Earth’s orbit and toward the moon just before dinner last night. A missile launch that isn’t intended to kill someone, or a bunch of someones. Feature that, if you can.
So remember when you’re feeling very small and insecure, how very unlikely is your birth. And pray that there’s intelligent life somewhere up in space, ’cause there’s bugger-all down here on Earth.
Everyone’s on the same page along Tramway Boulevard.
Way back in the Glory Days of Monday — remember that fabulous Monday? — a happy Duck! City motorist could gas up for $3.39 or $3.59 per gallon, depending on his/her choice of station.
On Saturday … not so much.
The going rate for a gallon of go-juice on Tramway today is $3.89, from Lomas to San Bernardino. Affordability is on the march, and soon the American public will be legging it around and about, too.
Just wait until Addled Hitler sinks Kharg Island, a small coral island off Iran’s coast that according to The Associated Press is “the primary terminal through which nearly all of Iran’s oil exports pass.” The Guardian has a nifty explainer, too.
Petras Katinas, an energy researcher at the Royal United Services Institute who calls Kharg “the main node” of the Iranian economy, said that if Iran were to lose control of the island, it would be difficult for the country to function, even though the island isn’t a military or nuclear target.
“It doesn’t matter which regime is in power — new or old,” Katinas said.
Oh, good. This is like blowing up a 7-Eleven and replacing it with a Circle K, only the Circle K has empty shelves, fuel pumps that don’t work, no employees, and an angry mob forming in the cratered parking lot with weapons in various calibers and configurations, craving a word with management.
Send Whiskey Pete Kegsbreath out to restore order. He can show them his tats. They can show him their rat-a-tat-tats.
A rare bird indeed — a 6-3 majority of the Supremes — just took a dump on His Excremency’s tariff scheme.
Ho boy. Iran best be bracing for the inevitable dick-punch. You just know he’s gonna tell Kegsbreath to have at it now.
Meanwhile, I want a refund for the $32 ransom I had to pay on that Selle Italia 1990 Flite saddle I bought last October. Insert your own “up the butt” joke here.
• Update:Some deets from the smarties at Scotusblog. And some most excellent snark from Betty Cracker at Balloon-Juice, who opines thusly:
You know he’s going to shit a cat. Ms. Wiles will have to surge housekeeping assets to the TV room to sponge the ketchup off the walls.
• Another update: No More Mister Nice Blog has some thoughts on war, tariffs and Trump’s brain, including informative links to pieces in The Wall Street Journal, Financial Times, and other outfits a tad better equipped for heavy duty than Your Humble Narrator..
Mad Blog Media 