Remember what George Carlin had to say about “service.” Photo: Gage Skidmore/Flickr, used under Creative Commons License 2.0
Well, to absolutely no one’s surprise, Kimberly Gullet got tossed over the side of the USS Grifter, wearing nothing but a few hundredweight of anchor chain extorted from Tiffany & Co.
I guess when they told her she was going to be ambassador to Greece she thought they meant “ambassador to grease,” as in her palm.
That the Kimbo got the heave-ho for doing the same thing that all the males in that leaky tub are doing, some of them trying to grow more hands so they can slip them into even more wallet pockets, should likewise surprise no one. In that crowd it’s always going to be “Pimps up, hoes down.”
Left? Right? Straight? Sheeyit, he’ll never go straight. …
There’s enough bullshit in the media for Texas to open a branch office. And you’d still have enough left over to start two law firms and a Christian bookstore. — George Carlin, “40 Years of Comedy.”
George Carlin’s advice I have been taking for much, much longer.
I caught Carlin’s act early on, when he gigged on “The Tonight Show” with Jack Paar and later Johnny Carson. But he really got my attention with the 1972 album “FM & AM.” His treatise on bullshit didn’t arrive until 1997, during his live HBO special “40 Years of Comedy,” but as usual he was (a) right on target, and (2) prescient as hell.
What would he have to say today? Plenty, I expect. Carlin was a master alchemist who could transform bullshit into gold.
Me? Strictly an amateur. JV. In it for the yuks, which have proven elusive lately. Can’t quite spot the diamonds in the dung.
“I’ll get you for this,” says Miss Mia Sopaipilla following her visit to the groomer.
So instead of blogging I’ve been riding and running, feeding the birds, watching some standup (Kyle Kinane, Rory Scovel, Leanne Morgan), taking Miss Mia Sopaipilla to the spa for a wash and brush-up, contemplating various household projects long deferred, and reading fiction — no, not the news, actual for-reals fiction.
And I’m definitely not trying to round up enough pennies for the rumored foldable iPhone Duo. $2K and up for something you can leave on top of your car at the gas station or drop in a toilet?
They said it might rain. But then they say a lot of things, don’t they?
I don’t see any mention of precip’ in my 2026 training log since a bit of snow on Jan. 25. This morning, our weather widget reports 0.08 inch of rain overnight, and we will take it, with gratitude.
Maybe some of this will fall on War Piggy’s parade this evening, when he is expected to either declare victory in his oil-burning Excursion and then run away with his armor all soiled like Sir Robin, or go full Curtis LeMay on Iran, bombing it “back to the Stone Ages,” which I suppose is where he thinks Fred and Wilma live.
Either way, the goal is getting back to the important stuff: turning the White House into a whorehouse with casino attached; flushing our health care down his golden loo to pay for all his impeachable offenses; and slapping his punk-ass name on everything, including the money he’s stealing from us.
The only good part about having this pendejo as president is that it frees up a lot of time you might otherwise waste listening to, reading about, or watching anything he has to say. If you see his name followed by a verb like “says,” well, you can just go about your business. Because whatever he says will be (a) incomprehensible without Mr. Spock’s Universal Translator, and (2) what George Carlin described in “40 Years of Comedy” as “bullshit” — top to bottom, stem to stern, inside and out.
Of course, George was speaking back in 1997, when American presidents cared enough to put some thought into the tales they told, a soupçon of savoir-faire, delivering what he called “high-quality bullshit, world-class designer bullshit, to be sure. Hospital-tested, clinically proven bullshit.”
War Piggy just brings the stink, and it’s hard to tell which end of him smells worse.
Barking mad and talking out his arsehole as per usual.
His Excremency King Piggy the Sticky-Fingered will be farting higher than his ass this evening during what the legacy media insists upon calling “the State of the Union address” but will almost certainly be more along the lines of the late George Carlin’s “Complaints and Grievances,” only not funny.
I will not be watching for mental-health reasons. Not his mental health; that leaky vessel has sailed, caught fire, exploded, and sunk. My mental health. What with the tariffs and inflation and whatnot, new TVs are way too pricey for me to be shooting ours in a fit of rage.
What say we all give it a miss this time around? If the senile old toad doesn’t stroke out tonight in what he promises will be a long airing of Crimes Against Him, he might just get ferried across the Styx tomorrow by the sort of ratings you might expect from a live goat fuck on the Trinity Broadcasting Network.
Either way, your reaction is likely to be, “Oh, shit.”
Water consumption in the [Colorado River] Basin continues to outpace the natural supply, further drawing down reservoir levels. While Basin State representatives pursue the elusive goal of a workable and mutually acceptable set of post-2026 operating rules, our review of the latest Bureau of Reclamation data shows that the gap between ongoing water use and the reality of how much water actually flows in the Colorado River poses a serious near-term threat. Another year like the one we just had on the Colorado River would nearly exhaust our dwindling reserves. …
A solution can’t wait for a long-term agreement among the states. It may be difficult, if not impossible, for the Basin States to take such short term action. That reality puts the onus on the Department of the Interior to act.
The Department of the Interior? Led by former North Dakota governor Doug Burgum, a fossil-fuelish kind of fella who briefly ran against the Pestilence, then kowtowed to it, and worked with his former rival’s campaign to develop its energy policy?
Talk about shit and bad luck. Oh, god … oh, shit. …
