Let’s Fill in the Blank (1 Quick Limerick #096)


All prezzy sez and duz, he’s sure to muck up,
Instead of telling him so, minions suck up,
To be proFane, more Frank,
Let’s all Fill in the blank,
That numb dumb cluck is one hell of a _uck up!


Stay Safe… Stay Home… Stay Healthy!









Fortune Cookie Blog (Reflection)


Let’s reflect. Would a peeved, vexed, vengeful god
ever opt to smite the hard-core, badass narcissist?
Indict? Adjudicate? Convict? Punish? Banish such
a fool to a realm devoid of devotees? Sans mirrors,
elements/compounds with reflective surfaces, too?









A Postcard Not Delivered Posthaste


INTRODUCTION: Coronavirus / COVID-19 is a literal life or death matter. This pandemic is a serious problem, which Donald J. Trump still does not take all that seriously. Nonetheless, his Task Force recently mailed out a postcard, offering sound advice, which all recipients must take seriously! The problem I do have with this postcard is its three months late arrival! The period of social distancing / isolation, which many of us have been voluntarily complying with, likely could’ve been shortened considerably… may’ve even been avoidable… had Trump acted more responsibly and expeditiously!

The blog, below this preface is thick with sarcasm. I’m venting in this manner because I find Trump’s ego, political ambition, amorality, frivolity, callousness and avarice driven agenda both insufferable and sickening… especially against the backdrop of a pandemic. There can be no denying that his unpreparedness and dawdling have [1] made life miserable for everyone, [2] caused needless illness, suffering and death and [3] unleashed economic devastation that will defy recovery for multiple decades.

An honorable man would [1] publicly admit he’s been dead wrong, [2] offer his compassion and get well wishes to the ailing, [3] express his heartfelt condolences to the family / friends of all who’ve perished, [4] humbly ask for our forgiveness, and last but not least, [5] promptly resign!

Now… let’s get this blog rolling…

A few days ago, I received a postcard emblazoned with an IN ALL CAPS “salutation”. At the very least, it had to have been typed in font size 18. The wording…


FULL DISCLOSURE: I haven’t, actually, taken the time to measure that font because I deem any crap that’s been dredged from the bowels of the Trumpian Swamp, to be loaded with contagion. It’d take an epidemiologist to figure out the specific microbe(s) which may be involved. Of course, now would not be a good time to ask for help… seeing how those professionals are already overworked and over stressed.

I did wind up letting Donny’s post card hit the floor, where it still remains to this very day. Next, I rushed over to the sink… STAT… to suds up my hands under a steady stream of whooshing water… as hot as I could tolerate… while singing “Happy Birthday” for 20 seconds… uh… 3 times. One cannot be too careful when potentially dealing with crotchety cronies and/or grabbed playmates / porn stars and/or puckered up butt kisser underlings and/or “Fox and Friends” propaganda ministers, who may’ve sneezed and/or coughed all over Donny, beforehand.

NOTE TO SELF: Pick up and dispose postcard, next Monday, after cleaning toilet and before removing gloves.

Initially, I did find Donny-the-Prima-Donna’s hogging the limelight totally off-putting, because he could’ve never even begun to figure out the syntax, spelling and grammar… let alone amass the actual, accurate medical advice. I suspect at least one ghostwriter was in play here (maybe Dr. Anthony Fauci?).

Of course, the capitalization of letters certainly doth jibe with Donny’s TWEETSTORMS, which are Full Of It. More to the point, had his Task Force not plastered his name so prominently, he may’ve even nixed the printing and mailing out of these postcards… right from the get-go.

Seeing how the ratings conscious Donny, all along, has downplayed the deadly nature of this take no prisoners pathogen… it makes perfect sense that only his name doth appear. After all, he, alone, is responsible for allowing coronavirus to spread like wildfire all across the very nation he had taken an oath to preserve, protect and defend.

The primary reason that only his name appears is his way of bellowing out, “VOTE FOR ME!” However, what those three words are really saying is…





My best wishes that you stay well! If you are ailing, you have my hopes and prayers for a full, speedy recovery. Wherever / whenever we discover a leadership vacuum, it’ll be incumbent on us to do everything we can to save humanity. Please stay safe by continuing to heed the following common sense, disease fighting advice…

[1] Practice good hygiene (scrub hands often at least 20 seconds), [2] Cover coughs and sneezes, [3] Avoid touching eyes, nose and mouth, [4] observe social distancing protocols (remain at least 2 meters / 6 feet apart [5] avoid large crowds or (ideally) just stay at home and [6] if ill, self quarantine.







What’s a Grown-Up To Do?


Long sigh! How are we, the adults in the room, supposed to deal with this?

For the past (nearly) four years, we’ve become the exasperated, surrogate parents to a truculent, septuagenarian man-child, who [1] gleefully fritters away his precious time frolicking around his oval shaped playpen, [2] disgustingly marks his territory while scampering about the playground nation, and [3] vegges out in front of the TV while experiencing disgusting, drooling, perverted, pubescent-magnitude rapture for his doting FOX friends (who, in turn, are always on hand to stroke his… uh… well… let’s just call it his inflated ego and leave it at that).

We are painfully aware that [1] he is sickened by narcissism, [2] he relies on nepotism to shamelessly pick and choose the mindlessly loyal, sicko classmates he’ll play with and [3] they all live by their official class motto, “A mind is a wonderful thing to waste” (an adage awash with anti-science and anti-everything anti-intellectualism).

Considering them… as a hole… uh… as a whole… it should come as no huge surprise that they deem Coronavirus / COVID19 to be a Democratic Party hoax RATHER THAN the all too real, existential threat to humankind, which it is.

How can we expect a full of himself little man to ever act fully in the public interest? It appears way above his pay-grade to ever tackle any problem promptly, proactively and potently… and more to the point… to effectively contain and conquer COVID19 before it’s too late (becomes a pandemic). Perhaps it’s already too late?

Instead, what we get is the man-child… in the role of Dow Jones Donny… delivering his utterly unproductive, absolutely insensitive speeches and briefings.

We find the man-child worried sick over the ailing Stock Market. Is he even capable of feeling similarly about the people who’ve actually become sickened by this dread disease?

Obviously, he’s oblivious to these truths… which should be self-evident…

• The health of the Stock Market is inexorably linked to the health of the Workforce. Cure the latter and the former will take care of itself.

• Dead people and their mourning family and friends will not be in a “Let’s shop till we drop” mood. Neither will the rest of us restless folks, who are constantly worrying that even our weekly trips to the grocery store could kill us all.








Eeewwww! The (Mercifully Short) Short Story


Once upon a time… there lived a bad, Bad, BAD Boy, named Oleg.

His claim to fame? Well, if you really must know, he was renown for his YUGE YAP; his incessant, incoherent, inane and insane utterances. He was also instantly recognizable, due to his orange hue and tousled, yellowish, straw-like hair strands. Although he was stunted both intellectually and emotionally, seeing how both puberty and societal expectations of mediocrity oft rule, it was both inevitable and regrettable that he’d grow physically and rise to power.

Oligarch Oleg deemed his mirror, his Window to the World. He loved only himself and was only loved by an ignorant and / or insane cadre of his subjugated sycophants and subjects. So enamored with himself, was he, that he flat-out refused to allow Stephanie, his sexually harassed, enslaved, dressed in tattered rags chambermaid to launder his soiled, odoriferous articles of clothing. Hell, he even bawled like a big baby whenever she’d fling his chamber pot’s contents out the window, which overlooked the backyard.

“What a waste,” he’d lament, while mulling over how “best” to “honor” the growing alarmingly, mountainous dungheap.

“What a waste,” she’d lament while mulling over how Oleg’s Dark Ages, choke-hold on power had caused both her genius level IQ and people smarts to languish; denied her both the wherewithal and opportunity to ever see her dreams come true.  She dared not even turn her back, to roll her eyes in disgust, without inviting his unwelcome, pawing, tiny hands.

So, just how bad was the inevitable, pervasive, decaying fecal stench? Well, even the flies had established a NO FLY ZONE over Oleg’s Palace; an airspace encompassing thousands upon thousands of kilometers.

Well, one dismal, miasmatic morn, this stink took a distinct turn for the worse. Oleg woke up with what he deemed to be a perfect, Perfect PERFECT notion worming its way into his “noodle”. Instantly acting upon this “insight”, he promptly issued his royal decree: The Endangered Feces Act of ’19! In short, this document’s legalese stated that, sans his express consent, no one harboring evil intent, would ever be allowed to touch his precious poop. Normally, that’d seem like a win-win, but…

By the very next day, Oleg launched his new corporation, namely, Kingly Keepsakes. He’d market his brand, spanking new, exclusive, product line to the masses; expect his subjects to piss away their hard earned rubles / kopeks to purchase various sized lumps of their beloved Oligarch’s poop; all encased in crystalline plastic. The available (literally) crappy novelties included key fobs, belt buckles, bellybutton charms, dangly earrings, paperweights, bookends, doorstops… Eeewwww!

The End







Fortune Cookie Blog (Gesundheit!)


There once was a party host who invited his guests to try the punch
after they had witnessed him sneeze a dozen times into the punch-
bowl. When they would not fill and raise their glasses to offer their
toast to his good health, he felt inordinately insulted and indignant.
Compared to his influenza, his narcissism was far more debilitating.






Life Imitates Art? (Vid of the Day)

Lately, I’ve been having this nagging feeling that, unlike the typical cause / effect relationship where art imitates life, the exact opposite has been in play.

As I began free associating words such as “opposite” and “alternate”, that’s when it dawned on me that… not unlike what’s been going down in our troubled Trumpian times… most of us have seen an upheaval of astronomical proportions, before. These scenes span several incarnations of the Star Trek franchise… backdated to the Original Series episode: Mirror Mirror.

This is not to say that Captain Trump and his (non-enterprising) crew have actually been taking their cues from Mirror, Mirror. Of course, seeing how that narcissist always has his eyeballs glued to his TV and mirrors; how he gets off on evil empires, too, maybe I’ve been too hasty in dismissing this?

Anyway, I’m sure I’m not alone in feeling horror re the evil crap that’s been going down since StarDate 0120.17. That is what makes it easy to relate to how Captain Kirk and his away mission team must’ve felt emerging from their transporter beams… setting foot into a malevolent, sadistic, violent alternative society where, things are simultaneously, vaguely familiar and, yet, totally bizarre. Prime example is our above clip where we find the bearded, dagger toting Mr. Spock sadistically, pointlessly, inflicting agonizing pain upon transporter chief Kyle.

Hell, the Fascism channeling, barbaric Trump and his like-minded enablers / supporters could easily align themselves with that Empire. Indeed, white nationalists would have zero tolerance for The United Federation of Planets.

While Kirk, Uhura, Scotty and Bones do eventually make it back home to their kinder gentler dimension, our return to a kinder, gentler American homeland won’t likely be as easy as slipping Mirror, Mirror’s disc into the nearest DVD / Blue-Ray player.






On the Sunday Supper Menu: Food For Thought

SUBTITLE: Play the Trump the Trump Toady Game!

This past Sunday evening, just as I was about to sit down at the dinner table, the phone rang.

The caller had actually asked if he could talk to me… by name… even pronouncing my surname correctly! Of course… seeing how a slew of opportunistic, parasitic, scheming and scamming predators have been hijacking my landline for nigh on a decade, I have learned to be evasive / non-committal. Ergo, in my conspicuously wary tone of voice, I answered his question with the question, “Who wants to know?” He then revealed his affiliation with the Michigan branch of the Republican Party.

Yep, just as I had suspected… an opportunistic, parasitic, scheming and scamming predator!

He next disclosed that this call was being monitored / recorded… his menacing tone of voice implying that… if I knew what’s good for me, I had better [1] show him respect (which Trumpians don’t really deserve), [2] genuflect in the presence of His Eminence… or worse yet… [3] cower in front of a card carrying member of the Trumpian Master Race.

He then asked…

Do you think President Trump is doing a great job?

That a pollster would have the audacity to ask such an absurd question… the mere thought that some of those being polled would even answer, “yes”… all royally rankled me. How could anyone be so nose-blind to the Trumpian stench?

I was tempted… oh soooo tempted… to give him an angry earful… to call out his boy Donny as the Nazi / Klansman / Putin suck-up… devoid of ethics, greed driven grifter… poster boy for the NRA and immigrant child abuser that he is… AND the misogynistic / sex offender that he so proudly professed to be / portrayed himself as (corroborated by that now infamous NSFW Access Hollywood video clip).

However… seeing how my dinner was rapidly cooling off… I cooled off, too… and simply hung up on him.

I sure hope that Trumpster pollster interpreted that click in his ear to be my resounding “NO!” But, seeing how such subversives are oft subservient and ignorant, he probably, summarily dismissed it as a “bad connection”.

Well, upon sitting down / chowing down on my victuals… I realized food for thought was on the menu, too.

I could envision a veritable nationwide army of Trump Toadies promptly editing out all nay-sayer respondents while salivating over / savoring upon all of the saved testimonials provided by the glowing, gushing idolaters. I even considered the possibility that the preserved recordings could eventually get played back within earshot of the praise junkie, fake prez… for the express purpose of ceaselessly, repetitiously enrapturing and gratifying him… feeding his massive ego. Giving free rein to my imagination, I even visualized his noggin’s grotesquely, gargantuan tumescence actually taking on a physical manifestation and… depending on the egomaniac’s location… denying him ingress or egress to his white hued digs… resulting in the army corps of engineers’ need to widen all of that edifice’s portals.

After my dessert course, while clearing the dining room table, I further considered the ersatz prez’s desperate, pathetic need to always be the center of attention… how he likely even revels in his negative press. I next mulled over what would happen if… all the sudden… the media were to cease all reportage of all things Trumpian. Little doubt Donny would be devastated.

The mere thought that ignoring that ignoramus could actually be the best way to defeat him started gaining traction… to the point that… by the time I had washed, rinsed, dried and stowed all the dinnertime dishes, silverware, pots and pans… I had come up with my new game plan. During the entire run-up to the 2020 elections I’ll be playing mind games with each and every annoying Trumpster pollster.

Not too far off in the future… here’s how I’ll be playing my new Trump the Trump Toady Game! Check out a sample of the telephone give and take, play by play action…

Bbbrrrring Bbbrrrring… Bbbrrrring Bbbrrrring… Bbbrrrring Bbbrrrring…

“I’m conducting a brief survey on behalf of the Republican Party. Do you think President Trump is doing a great job?”
“Trump you say? President? President of what?”
“Of America.”
“Never heard of him.”
[horrified gasps and sobbing background noises]