November surprise

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 16 Comments
"Wake me when it's over," says the Turk. I'll need a spatula to flip him from time to time so he doesn't get bedsores.
“Wake me when it’s over,” says the Turk. I’ll need a big-ass spatula to flip him from time to time so he doesn’t get bedsores.

Hey, I’m surprised it’s November. Aren’t you?

Last night Herself showed me a meme making the rounds on Facebutt, something about 2016 being the kind of year an apocalyptic movie would use to set the scene for how the whole world went to hell.

Sounds about right to me.

But is it really only a preview of coming attractions?

Got 'er done. Go thou and do likewise.
Got ‘er done. Go thou and do likewise.

Take this presidential election (please). It matters who wins, of course. But even if The Hilldebeast prevails over Insane Clown Pussy, unless the Senate and House flip to Donk control, the next four years will make the last eight look like the Golden Age of Athenian democracy.

Hell, I anticipate that the immediate aftermath might embarrass any banana republics that aren’t already embarrassed on our behalf. Whether he loses big or little we should not expect ICP to go gentle into that good night. Imagine a large, oversugared toddler being dragged to bed after learning Santa brought him wool undies instead of a red trike. Better take his phone away first.

His supporters will be equally sanguine about an unhappy outcome, I’m certain. The Secret Service is probably already taking bids on Iron Man suits, Batmobiles and Terminators.

Mind you, this assumes an unhappy outcome for ICP and his merry men, which is not at all a sure thing. Plenty of smart folks gave the old hee, and also the haw, to the notion of Alfred E. “Worry” Bush ever getting into the Oval Office, and look how that turned out, if you can bear to.

We’re in what used to be called “the final stretch.” Alas, it’s only the beginning.

Now we’re cookin’

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments
"Is that an apple? May I have some?"
“Is that an apple? May I have some? That Man never lets me have anything good. And he beats me while you’re gone.”

Mister Boo is overjoyed that we’re back to business as usual around El Rancho Pendejo. That Lady Who Gives Him Things is making a fruit salad, and pieces of apple are rolling downhill.

Sweet dreams

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments
Mister Boo is overjoyed at the news of Herself's imminent return.
Mister Boo is overjoyed at the news of Herself’s imminent return.

Our long national nightmare is at an end.

I’m not talking about The Hilldebeast’s emails, which continue to be the gift that keeps on giving, even when they’re apparently not even hers. No, I’m talking about the imminent return to El Rancho Pendejo of Herself, who has been road-tripping for two weeks through Tennessee, Colorado and Utah.

Looking north from near the top of the Hillsdale Loop. To the south sits Interstate 40, which is a good deal less scenic.
Looking north from near the top of the Hillsdale Loop. To the south sits Interstate 40, which is a good deal less scenic.

The Boo will be ecstatic, or as close to that state as is Boo-manly possible (an excitable boy he is not).

Herself is the only human he really cares about. I am deemed suitable for short periods as a food delivery/excretion collection specialist (second class), but when she is around The Boo wouldn’t piss on me if I were on fire.

Oddly, though, his favorite spot for daytime naps — even if she’s home — is my office, just behind my chair. Go figure.

Meanwhile, yesterday in my capacity as commander of the 29er Jones Mechanized Infantry, I seized the Hillsdale Loop in the name of the people. Being a heavily armed elderly white guy I went unmolested by law enforcement. But I eventually gave it back anyway. Hey, somebody has to let The Boo out.

And finally, Khal checks in from scenic metropolitan Bombtown, where he is recovering from some medical experiments and limited to hollering at Siri via iPhone:

I am in an immobilization sling for another month so typing is “hunt and peck” with my left hand. Hence I don’t do too much of it.

It’s getting to the point where I might be able to take off the sling in a couple weeks to carefully work the right arm so might regain my voice, so to speak, and that will be a relief.

Probably no biking till January except on the stationary torture setup.

—K

P.S.: All the best to you and the gang.

 

The red, white and blue (and also, the brown)

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 17 Comments
This dark chocolate sucked so much I could hardly eat it. Yet I managed, somehow.
This dark chocolate sucked so much I could hardly eat it. Yet I managed, somehow.

“America has become a dildo that has turned berserkly on its owner.” — Thomas McGuane, in “A Chat With a Novelist,” by Jim Harrison

The leaders and participants in the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge occupation got off scot-free yesterday. And if you had been following the occupation via TV and thought you saw crimes being committed, well, who you gonna believe — a jury of your alleged peers or your lyin’ eyes?

I’m thinking the wrong lawyer got tased after that verdict.

I’m also thinking that as long as these activities appear to be sanctioned by The People, I might just occupy a little feddle-gummint territory my own bad self, starting with the Denver Mint. And if any lesser authority should happen to complain about my collecting a few, um, souvenirs, well, I’ll just explain that they are sacred images of my ancestors.

Whoops, looks like that sacred-ancestors argument doesn’t work so well when made by the wrong kind of Americans. I like my pepper on the plate, not in my eyes, and delivered by a smiling server instead of a Terminator driving a tank.

Can we get a change of venue for all these cases? I’m thinking maybe Oregon.

Meanwhile, finally, something upon which all Americans can agree: Dark chocolate sucks.

Even so, it tastes miles better than some of the stuff we’ve been fed lately.