Weather is here, wish you were beautiful

“Periwinkle blue, boys,” the color Mickey the Pikey wanted for his ma’s caravan in “Snatch.”

The Duck! City was smokin’ the day after the State of the Union crashed and burned, reaching a high of 72 degrees — 18 degrees above average.

It’s nice to be above average in something. But still, damn.

The roses are budding and so is everything else. The primates who call this desert home may view with alarm the federal knuckles being dragged into the Colorado River Compact, which remains an insoluable dilemma to its signatories and will join the long list of issues about which His Excremency King Piggy the Sticky-Fingered knows nothing and cares even less.

And Your Humble Narrator, who ordinarily yearns to piss off to someplace toasty about this time of year, finds himself in the awkward position of grumbling about beautiful weather in February.

All of which means — yes, yes, yes — it’s time for a Coconut Telegraph edition of Radio Free Dogpatch. Apologies to the late Jimmy Buffett, from whom I liberated the headline.

• Technical notes: RFD uses the Ethos mic from Earthworks Audio; Audio-Technica ATH-M50X headphones; Zoom H5 Handy Recorder; Rogue Amoeba’s Audio Hijack; Apple’s GarageBand, and Auphonic for a quick wash and brushup. The dog drinking from his dish and the car failing to start come from Freesound. The background music, “Easy Stroll,” is from YouTube’s audio library. Other sound effects are the work of the thirsty, sunburnt, untraveled Irish-American behind the bar at this non-alcoholic pub.

Avis rara legalis

“The State? Yeah, that’s me. What of it? What?”

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:

• 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..

Pestilence Day

One of these things is not like the other.

“Not dead yet, I suppose?” I remarked to Herself as I set about my morning chores.

“Nope,” she replied.

Humph. And they call this a national holiday?

I haven’t checked the news yet, being only a cup and a half of joe into my day. Has His Excremency ordered up a platoon of virgins to take turns massaging his tiny wand? Good luck finding any in the immediate vicinity. Nothing but worn-out old pros with scabby knees and callused lips in that shabby, shameless army. (And yes, I’m looking at you, Lindsey Graham.) The USS Nimitz has fewer years on the job and has seen less action, too.

Speaking of elderly vessels, has Hair Füror ordered a strike group to menace the emperor penguins at Antarctica? Probably in league with the terrorist sheep of the Falkland Islands. Show ’em what a real emperor looks like! Bonus: Antarctica has coal! Clean, beautiful coal!

Mustn’t forget the terrorists right here at home, of course. The proles actually expect to be able to vote during the midterms! Ho ho. That’s easily managed. While Congress is out of town this week, just change all the locks at the Capitol, issue the appropriate executive orders — “Thank you for your service, kapow, kapow, etc.” — and achtung! 535 fewer speedbumps on the autobahn to 1933. If anyone turns up at the polls, well … ICE already has all the funding it needs. Danke, suckers.

Nevertheless I remain hopeful. Herself and I have birthdays coming up and if our good buddy Jeebus loves us we may yet be treated to the sight of a regiment of flag-pinned toadies doing it hand to hand over who will be The One to “don” (har de har har) the departed cult leader’s Depends of Domination as he rides that golden escalator down to his cardboard condo at the Lake of Fire.

A word to the unwise: Just because those drawers are yellow doesn’t mean they’re golden. Pulling them on with rubber gloves and burning eyes will be a Feat of Strength that will make Arthur pulling the sword from the stone look like Stephen Miller pulling his pud in a rental van parked across from an elementary-school playground at recess, unaware of the bomb attached to his gas tank.

Because no matter how this shit shakes out, nobody wants that dude around to sing his songs. He knows where all the bodies are buried. More than a few of them are probably in his basement freezer.

When HAL runs HR

“I know you still have the greatest enthusiasm and confidence in the mission. But. …”

I’m rarely gobsmacked by journalism lately. Familiarity, contempt … you know.

But damme if this piece from Josh Tyrangiel at The Atlantic ain’t a sure-’nough stem-winder.

The question is “What will A.I. do to jobs?” And the answers come from right, left and center, from tech CEOs to academic economists to Steve Fucking Bannon — yes, that Steve Fucking Bannon.

It’s smartly reported and cleverly written and the accompanying graphics from Stephan Dybus are top notch.

You will probably not find the story comforting, as it considers the irksome human factor’s effects, if any, upon the Rise of the Machines. The long and the short of it is that where job security in Meatworld is considered, A.I. will either be just ducky or something like a pickleball dustup in Florida.

Here’s your straitjacket, there’s the door. …

Cue the theme song.

Dude is off his rocker. Coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs. A couple apple slices short of a Happy Meal.

What I’m saying is, his golden escalator don’t go all the way to the lobby no more.

Can we please drop a 25th Amendment net over the sonofabitch before he invades Chipotle for their cooking oil? Impeach, convict, and remove? Any adults in the room with this angry toddler?

This is one reason why the Missus and I don’t have kids. Sometimes they turn out to be Hitler.

Thank you for your attention to this matter!