Tag Archives: post modern dinosaur

Free Range Kids? Hell, We Were Feral Children!


So, I came across an article in the Federalist Papers written by a gentleman named Steven Straub
(https://thefederalistpapers.org/us/21-things-kids-used-to-do-that-liberals-ha
ve-ruined)   It’s about what weenies kids today have become and lists stuff
that they’re not allowed to do anymore.  I was shocked at the innocuous stuff that is considered “dangerous” today.

I hate to tell Mr. Straub, but this proud native Floridian can say the things he
listed would have been considered uber weenie stuff in my (mostly liberal)
family.

For background, my Grampa and Dad were bootleggers back in the day.
Dad had been an all-state end playing football in high school. Grampa
designed and raced speedboats and he and Dad smuggled liquor from
Canada. (Presumably that was why Grampa designed and raced
speedboats.) So they knew not of weenie-ism.

After prohibition they got into rum running but Dad (an atheist) fell in love
with Mom (a strict Catholic, sweet as pie, who had never been exposed to
such a wild guy in her life).  Dad was tough as nails.  Jeez he was tall, a
great jock, and had hands as big as catcher’s mitts.  Mom was a tiny little
thing who never raised her voice and was kind to everyone.

So, anyway, if Mr. Straub doesn’t mind (I hope he does not, I fully attribute
his work herein) here’s what it was like being a native Floridian back in the
day, compared to what he thinks is not being a weenie.

BTW, this wasn’t mentioned as one of his items, but, we had this indoor
game for after we had to come inside for the night.  It was called Rocky
Socky Football.  My little brother and I were the footballs and my older
brother was the football team.  We had this 40 ft long living room. We
would start in the middle and my older brother would try to knock us across
the room (not in one hit, mercifully) into the east wall.  No, he didn’t pick
us up and carry us, he would get down in a football stance, and charge low
and fast and hit us–like a lineman’s hit–knocking us backward if he could.  (We little kids didn’t know it wasn’t normal to be used as the football.)  My little brother (aged two – four) and I (aged six – eight) would doubleteam him and try to overrun him and get to the west end of the room.He was seven years older than I and 11 years older than our little brother, so it was a mismatch.

Before he went away to university we moved to a new house, which ended the game forever,  because the new house didn’t have a 40 ft living room.  But it was fun while it lasted.

My parents would  sit quietly after dinner, having a cocktail and cigarette, and watch the mayhem as we got knocked around, shrieking and screaming because the game was so fun. My mother was alarmed but Dad didn’t see anything odd about such rough horseplay.

Back to Mr. Straub’s list; here are his items, and how they compare to our
experiences.

“Riding in the back of an open pick-up truck with a bunch of other kids”
Yeah, we used to do that. We rode in the back of Grampa’s pickup
truck. He’d been a bootlegger and drove like one. When he was in his late seventies he hit a tree, going 85 mph on his way to court for a hearing after he’d been arrested for being drunk and running red lights in Palm Beach.  So, riding in
the back of Grampa’s pickup was fun.

“Leaving the house after breakfast and not returning until the
streetlights came on, at which point, you raced home, ASAP so you didn’t
get in trouble”
Yeah, we did that too. In the summer we hopped on our bikes after
breakfast and roamed from the inlet in Palm Beach to the Burnt Bridge on
Singer Island and everywhere in between.

“Eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the school cafeteria”
Sorry, I was a purist. Jelly just detracted from the peanut butter. I
scraped it off.

“Drinking water from the hose in the yard”
Yeah, and we didn’t hold it to the side and just drink from the stream
of water, either. We’d put the filthy end of the hose right in our mouths and
redirect the water back out, spitting it at each other.

“Swimming in creeks, rivers, ponds, and lakes (or what they now call
*cough* “wild swimming“)”
Oh, come on! Of course we did. When I was in fourth grade Mom
would let my sister and I go alone to the Singer Island causeway (which had
no lifeguard) to swim.  And we took the bus, alone, to get to Singer Island to go
to the ocean because the beach there was a lot better than the pitiful Palm
Beach Mid-town beach. There was no roped off section to protect us from
boats either.

“Climbing trees (One park cut the lower branches from a tree on the
playground in case some stalwart child dared to climb them)”
Are you kidding me? We just about lived in trees.  One of our favorite games was “see who can jump from the highest branch to the ground”. And “see who can jump the farthest out from the highest branch” was another. My older brother nailed some pieces of 1” x 8” board, each about a foot long, to a big slash pine so we could climb up it without getting sap all over us. Of course with all the
kids scrambling up and down this makeshift “ladder” the nails would pull
out at unpredictable moments so you always had to be ready to make a four
point landing to distribute the impact when you’d hit the ground. We never
got hurt.

“Having snowball fights (and accidentally hitting someone you
shouldn’t)”
Uh, what’s a snowball fight? I’m a Floridian who also lived in the
Caribbean.  But we’d make little projectiles out of rotting kumquats, stick a stripped palm frond center in one end and sling them. My big brother made a blowgun out of metal pipe and used to blow real darts (which we were supposed to dodge) at us.  It worked so well that the darts would embed in the concrete wall of the living room. We only played this game inside. There were a lot of little pinholes (okay, a bit bigger) in the wall, which our parents repainted again and again.

“Sledding without enough protective equipment to play a game in the
NFL”
Uh, what’s sledding? We knew not of such things. We did play
tackle football without pads or helmets though. And touch football in the
street was a favorite too.  The “touches” were hard enough to knock us little
ones down.  We thought that was how football was supposed to be played.
Rough.

“Carrying a pocket knife to school (or having a fishing tackle box with
sharp things on school property)”
Man, I got into the habit of carrying a knife at all times when I was
still in elementary school. Mom knew I had knives but she didn’t realize I
always had one with me.

“Camping”
My parents refused to take us camping. They liked hot water, beds and a
roof overhead.

“Throwing rocks at snakes in the river”
There was no river, only salt water (Lake Worth and the Ocean) and snakes
don’t go there. Why would ya throw rocks at a snake anyway?

“Playing politically incorrect games like Cowboys and Indians”
There was no such thing as “political correctness” then. We played cowboys and Indians all the time.  My sister and I were “Big Indian” and “Little Indian”.
When we played cowboys I was either Gene Autrey or Roy Rogers.

“Playing Cops and Robbers with *gasp* toy guns”
I had a great collection of toy guns (cap guns–pistols, with holsters that had real bullet holders). Sadly I must say that Mom would not let us have real guns.

“Pretending to shoot each other with sticks we imagined were guns”
Why would we do that? We had real fake guns. We were gunslingers when
we weren’t being Indians. Of course we pretended to shoot each other.
What the hell do ya s’pose the guns were for?   My older brother had a toy
bazooka which shot relatively hard balls and we used to shoot those at each
other too.  You were supposed to dodge them.

“Shooting an actual gun or a bow (with *gasp* sharp arrows) at a can
on a log, accompanied by our parents”
When I was in fourth grade I bought a real hunting bow and real
arrows and my little brother and I used to shoot them all the time. We
didn’t shoot them at a can on a log. No, we would shoot at various stuff
while on the run, “like an Indian”.  Sometimes we tried doing it on our bikes
but the bow was too cumbersome. We didn’t shoot at each other though.
And we were never accompanied by our parents when we did this.

“Saying the words “gun” or “bang” or “pow pow” (there is actually a
freakin’CODE about “playing with invisible guns”)
I hate to tell ya but saying “gun” or “bang” would be sissy stuff.  We were all
about heavy firepower–pow, pow, pow, pow, pow–yelled very quickly and
loudly.  For the bazooka rounds we would make the sound of an explosion.

“Working for your pocket money well before your teen years”
Are you kidding? Mom had my sister and I doing dishes and household
chores before we even got to kindergarten, to earn our allowance. My big
brother had to mow the lawn for his money–with one of the old-fashioned
push mowers.  In a large family everyone was expected pull their weight.

“Eating pop rocks candy and drinking soda, just to prove we were
exempt from that urban legend that said our stomachs would explode.”
Please. That wasn’t even on our radar screen. We never felt we had to
prove anything except on the field of combat, i.e. when we were playing.
We played war all the time. One time our parents went out and we took all
the living room furniture and made two forts, one at each end of the long room,
and had a big war with our home-made zip guns. They only shot rubber
bands though, not projectiles.

“Writing lines for being a jerk at school, either on the board or on
paper.”
Well, duuuh. Yeah. We went to Catholic school. Everybody got
punished for something, and deportment was never my highest grade.

“Playing ‘dangerous’ games like dodgeball, kickball, tag, whiffle ball,
and red rover (The Health Department of New York issued a warning about
the ‘significant risk of injury’ from these games)”
Oh, brother! Danger was the whole point of playing!  Of course we
played those games but we didn’t consider them dangerous. We did far, far
more dangerous things than any of those.  Jeez, even swings were dangerous
the way we played with them. We’d get going as high as we could and leap
out. The point was to see who could leap from the highest point and/or who
could leap the furthest out. There was one park that had very long swing
chains and a high bar, and you could really generate some power with a
good, strong pusher.  You could get, like, ten feet in the air and then bail out.
And just one person swinging wasn’t enough for us. Whoever was in the
swing would pump as hard as they could, and someone would be behind and
push as hard as they could. I can still remember how it felt to push one of
those swings because it would be generating so much torque that it would
lift me off my feet.  Just as I’d hit the ground I’d put my full weight, plus the
strength of my arms and legs into the push. Man we’d be flying higher than
the crossbar and would just sail out. (My big brother was into aeronautics
and dynamics, so propulsion was a big part of many games in our family.)

“Walking to school alone”
Starting in first grade. Mom even made me walk to school when I
was having bad asthma attacks. (That’s when I learned to hitch-hike.)  No
sissies were allowed in our family. Well, not until the last child anyway.
She was coddled and never played sports or any rough games. She just
watched.

My parents would probably be arrested for child neglect today, for letting us
roam around unsupervised and engage in such dangerous pursuits. I’m glad
they did let us run wild. As a result I’ve had an adventurous life. Jeez, the
first time I went to Europe it wasn’t to go look at artwork and fall in love in
Paris or anything like that. Nope, I went to go and drive in the fast lane on
the Autobahn. Sooooo fun!  I’ve never thought twice about just flying into
some country and taking off driving–alone–just to roam around for a month
or two, with no itinerary and no reservations, just to see what was out there.

Thanks Mom and Dad for letting us kids be feral children–just as wild as
our inclinations led us to be. We grew up to be fearless adults. And most of
us are at least quasi-liberals. So much for your generalization about liberals Mr. Straub.

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Does Trump Have Oneirataxia?


I may have the answer–to what’s wrong with Donald Trump, that is.

Maybe he has oneirataxia – the inability to distinguish between fantasy and reality.  (This, by the way, seems to be a common affliction among real estate
developers. When they talk about developing a real estate project, they think it’s
already a fait accompli.)

I came across the term while looking for a way to convey my persistent
longing for Wales. Ever since visiting there in 2014 I think about it
constantly, daily.  (It turned out the term I was looking for is “fernweh” i.e.
an ache for distant places.)

However, having so fortuitously come across a word for explaining Trump’s
seemingly delusional ravings of late, it’s only right to share it. It seems
somehow, more presidential than just saying he’s crazy as a bedbug, or
nutty as a fruitcake.  It seems less dauntingly dangerous for our national security interests than “dementia”.

Somehow, if I look at it that way it’s even not so disgusting to watch him waddling to and fro like a beached walrus, with his pathetic long red tie pointing at his crotch virtually shouting “look at my dick, look at my dick”.  Of course, I’m just a post modern dinosaur so nobody’s asking my opinion.

Still better than Hillary though.  God only knows what mental dysfunctions that one’s got hidden up her sleeve.  Or psyche.

Yep, oneirataxia – inability to distinguish between fantasy and reality.  If
that’s not our pres. I don’t know what is.

All Reality Is Not Virtual


As a committed post-modern dinosaur, I have never tweeted, been on
facebook, LinkdedIn, reddit, or any other social media site. There are no
apps, devices or any other means of “syncing” an information flow in my
world.  My laptop is the whole ball of wax, device-wise.  I know not of
interacting online with groups of people. I just don’t get it.  But, clearly,
time has passed me by and I am officially irrelevant.

Twitter wars and their prominence among “news” stories in the media seem
mystifying.  Reading or watching stories about this phenomenon also seem
pretty funny.  All these characters with their thumbs flying, being egged on
by “news” reports, conjure up an image of a bunch of weenies engaging in
what amounts to electronic slap fights.  Hunched over their tiny devices, do
those engaging in the exercise actually believe it is the equivalent of some
sort of gladiatorial warfare?  I think they do.

Forget it folks, you’re not Russell Crowe, you’re Arnold Stang.

Tip: your busy thumbs are not the full extent of your physical
capabilities. You can get up and walk, talk to live humans in person, see
“real” things with your “real” eyes, feel the sun and wind, experience “real”
life firsthand.  Yeah, it’s kind of uncomfortable, but, probably good for ya.

See, if you’re confining yourself to virtual reality, your non-virtual
musculature and body parts are withering from lack of use and exercise. Your
overly active imaginations, seeing yourselves as some sort of latter day
cultural warriors are a bit over the top.  Okay, delusional.  There is such a
thing as “real” reality y’know.

It all seems hilarious to me, but with a looming downside which is apt to
wind up affecting all of us, including the ones who don’t tweet or who have
thoughts which won’t fit into 140 characters. People seem overly focused
on what’s being said on Twitter. The lazy media, too slack to actually go
out and find real news to report–well except for Richard Engel, Ben Weideman, Ivan Watson, et. al.–can just open up their devices, have a donut
peck out a thin story about what other people are doing in 140 characters,
and think they’ve reported the news.

I actually saw one of the former Fox News blondes, in full raccoon-eye
makeup, say recently, with the most earnest look, that “When the President
tweets, we have to report on it.”  No. You don’t. “News” is not confined to
what comes out of Donald Trump’s thumbs or mouth. Stuff is
happening–important stuff–out in the “real” world. If you work for a news
media organization, you and your colleagues are supposed to be telling the
rest of us about it.

And the putative “news” cable channels are ridiculous. MSNBC runs
non-stop Lock-up programs on the weekends, presumably because “real”
news doesn’t actually happen on weekends. CNN similarly doesn’t do
much live reporting on the weekends.  Possibly it’s because the “reporters”
don’t work weekends. But if you want your media company to be considered a
news organization, then you actually have to report real “news”.  Trust me,
there’s lots going on in the real world on weekends, despite what cable
news channel programmers think.

MSNBC also hired a guy, Brian Williams, who was fired for lying, to do an alleged news show. Why? Somehow his presence on the roster is supposed to increase the network’s credibility as a news network!  How does that work?
Has Mr. Williams dropped his habit of lying?  Sorry, I’m not buying it.

CNN has a morning “news” anchor who’s just a Fox News re-tread yakking
it up five mornings a week. Sorry, I’m not interested in FoxNews’ sloppy
seconds. Don’t hire a media whore and trot her out as a serious journalist,
and expect me to forget what she did before.

The ancillary world of internet trolls is similarly mystifying. Aren’t they
just what we used to call busybodies? Perhaps we should more accurately refer to them as E-busybodies instead of trolls.

The whole notion of spending hours just looking for something to be pissed
off about seems pretty unhealthy. Long ago I decided, when being overly
critical of others, that I’ll try to hold off on that until I’ve perfected me.
There’s a ton of work to be done there, so I’m not holding my breath about
when I can get back to telling everyone else how they should live their lives
and what choices they should make.

Meanwhile, I see that our president is meeting with Vlad Putin this Friday.
What has Vlad been tweeting about lately? I’m all agog with curiosity.

I’m also wondering what future archaelogists will make of the skeleton remains of all the tweeters out there.  “There seems to have been a popular cult which flourished tens of thousands of years ago which focused on those with very large thumbs.  Perhaps that characteristic was considered as beauty.  At this point, we just don’t know but all indications are that genetic thumb mutations became a socially desirable physical attribute at some point in the past.  That culture disappeared and we can only conjecture what might have happened to wipe it out.”

 

The Genealogy Project Wasn’t a Complete Bust


So it was back to the genealogy project for a few minutes, to look up the bio
for a many-greats grandfather, Eochaid IV, “The Venomous” King of
Scotland.  What do you suppose someone living in an incredibly violent,
brutal and inhumane time such as the Middle Ages would have to do to earn
the sobriquet “The Venomous” ?  He sounds kinda daunting.  But he was married to a Pictish princess, supposedly, before the Picts got so intermarried/interbred with the Scots that their tribe eventually disappeared.

However, his grandfather had my all time favorite adjectival appendage to
his name–”Fire White”. That would be Aodh Hugh Finn, “Fire White”
King of Scotland, King of Dalriata.  (His grandfather had a less imposing nickname; ‘”crooked nose”.)

But such dilatory/dilettante-ish dabblings were not the extent of the project.
More goal-oriented research had a more worthwhile end.

An old friend of mine was really depressed at the prospect of her daughter
and grandchildren moving from the east coast to Hawaii. She’s a
bibliophile with probably 4,000 books scattered throughout her home.
She’s also a history and genealogy buff whose IT whiz husband has so
fouled her computer with anti-malware/anti-virus software that she can
barely use the darn thing to communicate, let alone do genealogy research.

So I traced some of her family for her–and discovered that one of her
ancestors was with Washington’s force (as a member of the Delaware
Militia I think) at the Battle of Trenton. He also fought in the rearguard
covering Washington’s retreat from Princeton, although I’m under the
impression that there were two engagements between Washington and the
Brits at Trenton. Not sure which one her ancestor was in.

My friend, a retired Army vet, many of whose family fought with the rebels
in the Civil War, is an avid military history buff, so this bit of information
thrilled her. It also sent her scouring through her library to see if she could
flesh out the ancestor’s life story.

This led her to discover a book written by one of the newly discovered
ancestors.

Then I discovered that her family and mine had lived within 13 miles of one
another in the early 17th century, near Amsterdam. In fact, her many greats
grandfather there owned a bookstore near the university. It’s possible that
my ancestor bought books from her ancestor.

From that occurrence in the 17th century, until now, there were several
points at which our families converged abroad and in America, and would
surely have known one another since they were in lightly populated areas.

And, in our childhoods, although we did not know each other, our paths
must have crossed many times. We used the same small, two room library.
We shopped in the same small downtown, we watched the same Christmas
parades.

From the 1620’s until today our two histories have intersected again and
again. We’d never have known this if I hadn’t searched for her ancestors to
try and give her some new information which would engage her fascination
with history and her family’s genealogy. Because, of course, I wanted to get
her mind off the sailed-far-away family.

Now she’s passed the new genealogy info on to other members of her
extended family and they have an additional 16 – 19 generations to pore
over. She’s still working on getting her husband to free up her computer
though, so she can use the internet to search for ancestral information.

So, all in all, my extended genealogy project has not only resulted in a ton
of history information about Europe in the Middle Ages, and my own family
history, it also provided my friend with some useful self-therapy to combat
the blues from missing her child and grandkids.

That’s probably a better ROI than, say, playing video games on the internet.

Demented or Not, Trump’s Still Right About Some Things


Trump has been a huge disappointment.  I was actually a Bernie supporter but, once Hillary, Debbie Wasserman Schultz, et. al. sandbagged him it was obvious that Trump was the only viable choice left.

I was hoping that he would actually do something about the crappy trade agreements we signed up for–which hurt American workers and favor foreign countries which can’t compete fairly against our products and workers.  But he’s failed to make any moves on that front, more’s the pity.   What’s so galling is that he knows better.

Aside from Madeline Albright sending any women who didn’t vote for Hillary to hell,  it was obvious Mrs. Clinton has not the temperament, the leadership skills, or the skill sets needed to be an effective president.  So the only other choice was Trump.

While I would have loved to be able to cast a vote for a viable female presidential candidate, she wasn’t it.  It seems to me Hillary’s two top skills are holding onto her husband’s popularity coattails and taking credit for the achievements of others.

Worse, it seemed certain that all she would do is poison the well for future women who might legitimately seek the presidency.

On the other hand, Trump is right about immigration, open borders and “free trade” which is pretty damn expensive for American workers.

Immigration reform should be a high priority.  Just look at what’s happening in Europe.  Why on earth has Europe fallen for that open borders foolishness?  Ever hear of “stranger danger”?  Did Angela Merkel and the rest of the fatuous leaders in Europe even take a look at the place from whence Europe is now permitting millions of immigrants to flood their continent?  It’s nothing but conflict there.  Women are treated like dirt there.  Human rights aren’t even a hypothetical construct in most of the Middle East.  (And we wound up taking in a bunch of these folks in too, even though it wasn’t as many as liberals would have liked.)

The last time there was a Muslim invasion of Europe it didn’t turn out well for Europeans.  Turns out the Saracens/Muslims weren’t all that nice.  Not to mention, there hasn’t been a single invention or advance in science, economics, research, or invention among that demographic for centuries.  What, exactly, do Europeans think these interlopers are bringing to the table?

It took a hell of an effort to pry the Saracens/Muslim out of Europe the last time. Badass Charles Martel “The Hammer” managed it, at great personal risk to himself, at the Battle of Tours/Poitiers in 732.  Now a bunch of witless liberals are handing the continent back to these extremely violent people–for “humanitarian” reasons.  Talk about irony!

Why not resettle Middle Eastern refugees in the Middle East?  Maybe that makes too much sense for people who live in a comfy, coddled society where they don’t seem to notice who keeps murdering residents and blowing stuff up.

What does history call people who won’t defend themselves and their culture?

The conquered!

I’m with Trump on the immigration issue.  Logic says he’s right, even if political correctness stipulates otherwise.

Grow up liberals–it’s a big bad world out there and there are a ton of people in it who would just love to take your stuff, your land, your rights.  Grit your teeth and learn to say “NO”!  And ditch the idiots who insist on seeing the world as they wish it were, in favor of cold-eyed realists who can face ugly reality and understand what it takes to maintain sovereignty.

Control borders and have some sense about letting strangers run riot in your countries.  Do it while they still are your countries.  Are you listening, U.S. Congress?  Probably not.

Carpetbagger Beats Native Son in GA District 6


Caveat:
Technically I am a Southerner.  My family’s been in Florida for just shy of
100 years and I was bred, born, raised and educated here.  However, South Florida isn’t actually the South. It’s a separate parallel universe.  Ya
gotta go north in Florida to be in the South, so probably I don’t really count
as a Southerner.  But when people not born here call themselves a Floridian they get a frosty reply from me–“You are NOT a Floridian.  You just live here”.  As far as I’m concerned anyone born north of Orlando is a Yankee.   You could say I’m just a post-modern dinosaur.

Well, it’s official.  Georgia is no longer truly Southern.  The unthinkable has
happened.  District 6 voters picked an unqualified, uneducated carpetbagger
over a well educated native son, at the behest of a Yankee from New York!  Ack!

There was a time, after the Civil War, when carpetbaggers were reviled in
the South. (At the time Southerners seemed surprised that killing hundreds
of thousands of Northerners, thereby plunging the country into years of devastating war and economic chaos in support of being able to own people, might actually have consequences.)

Not satisfied with having the beloved land–the South–burned to ashes, a
Southerner murdered the one person who might have helped reconstruct the
floundering region, Abraham Lincoln.  The mindless aggression of the
South not only left it in ruins, the economic fallout kept it a backwater
reeling in poverty and distress for a hundred years.

After the war (mostly Republican) post-Civil War carpetbaggers flooded the South and proceeded to help themselves to the spoils of an ill-conceived mass conflict.  Southerners detested the northern opportunists, since they had contributed nothing to making the pre-war South an economic powerhouse, and abused the hapless Southerners in oh so many ways.  (Again, Southerners didn’t seem to make the connection that the distasteful newcomers were a direct result of their own foolish decision to go to war with their own country.)

In the South you will still occasionally hear people say that the Civil
War wasn’t about slavery, it was about states’ rights.  Yeah.  What they
mean is states’ rights to own people, effectively stealing the lives, families
and personhood of those millions of humans which they “owned” over a
period of hundreds of years.

Southerners’ distrust and dislike of Yankees persists in much of the South to this
day.  Yet, somehow Donald Trump, the ultimate carpetbagger, from New
York no less, has become wildly popular in the South.  He told the GA
District 6 voters who to choose and they fell in line and did his bidding
without a peep of protest.

So much for “hell no we ain’t fergettin,” a Southern slogan referring to the North having won the Civil War.  That win used to stick in Southerners’ craws.  Maybe they’ve gotten over it.

This leads me to believe that true Southerners have been out-bred and
outnumbered by Northern transplants and their offspring.  Folks who prefer a carpetbagger to a native son are what might be termed faux Southerners.

Proof positive that Georgia is no longer Southern came on June 20,
2017 in the state’s congressional District 6 special election.

The district’s voters chose an uneducated carpetbagger, with no training or
experience in economics, finance, political science or other relevant
disciplines, Karen Handel, over native son Jon Ossoff.

As Secretary of State for Georgia–a post to which Georgia voters elected
her–Handel was involved in persistent ploys to suppress voter turnout, i.e.
keep Southerners from exercising their right to vote.

Ossoff, whose bachelor’s degree is from Georgetown and master’s degree is
from the London School of Economics, was born and raised in District 6.
(However, his mother is an Australian immigrant and his dad was raised in
Massachusetts, so, honestly, neither of the District 6 candidates has
generational ties to Georgia.)

Carpetbagger Karen Handel (born in stronghold-of-Satan, Washington, D.C. ) actually criticized Ossoff for having a good education!  His degrees
could not possibly have come without both intelligence and great effort.
Neither of his post-secondary schools just hand out degrees for nothing.
So obviously his stellar educational achievements are a minus for him in nouveau Georgia.

The fact remains.  Georgia voters chose to elect a carpetbagger on the word
of a Yankee.  Georgia, or at least its District 6, is no longer Southern. Gasp!

Meanwhile, thanks District 6, for sending another ignorant, unqualified
representative to Congress.  The country doesn’t have enough of those,
right?  Now the rest of us will have to take the consequences of your
decision right along with y’all.

A carpetbagger elected in Georgia?  Obviously the End Days are nigh.  Mercy sakes alive, ah feel faint.  Fetch me a mint julep, willya?

Walking Mudpit Trump Sloshes Through Middle East


Personally, since I was in Palm Beach County when the Saudi 911 bombers
trained nearby, and lived there, I’m not a huge fan of Saudi Arabian
leadership.  Plus there’s that whole, women can’t drive or go out of their
house without a male to supervise them thing.  Sorry, but that’s not what
you’d call “endearing” to American women.

But I laughed out loud at the news story about the Saudis giving Trump a
“golden collar” during the president’s first trip to the Middle East .  Ya don’t necessarily think of them as having a sense of irony.

They’re gonna have a time of it teaching our perpetually distracted
president to heel, sit and stay though.  They’d do better with one of those
“zapper” collars that delivers an electric shock when a pet misbehaves.
That might possibly get the Saudi wannabe owners of Mr. Trump better
results.  But they’re gonna have to battle Putin on this one–he’s currently got
bragging rights on controlling our erstwhile Pres.

Maybe Putin and Saudi crown prince somebody or other could mud wrestle
for the right to lead Trump around by his golden collar.  (It’d give Putin a hard-to-resist excuse to flash his man-boobs again!)

Lots of people would pay cold hard cash to see that sporting event.  I’d put my money on Putin.  He sure enough knows how to fight dirty.  There’d have to be a written rule–no assassinating opponents; Putin has a history after all.

Yeah, our president–favored lapdog of brutal dictators.  MAGA?  But which one
would it be?  Who’d get the rose?  If the high stakes mud wrestling event
were televised it would blow American Idol and Bachelorette ratings off the
court, don’t ya think?

And I’ll just bet that Trump thought that golden collar was an
honor–because it’s expensive.

But, Trump wasn’t just visiting the Middle East, he went to Rome too.  (We’ll skip the part where he got confused during a press conference with Netanyahu in Israel and just wandered off!)   I was thinking the Pope might once again work his magic, as he did with John Boehner, who resigned the day after meeting with the persuasive pontiff.

Well, except that then we’d have President Pence–another empty suit nitwit.
On the up side he’s more photogenic than Trump, and really good at looking earnest and resolute.  Hard to tell if that’d be a real improvement in the long run, but, how much worse could it get?  At least he might not spend all day
watching TV and tweeting nonsense.  Unlike our current president, Pence
might even have policies and plans that wouldn’t fit into 140 characters.

Does anyone else wonder when the GOP is going to get it that they are
the ones colluding–in making all of us a laughingstock in the world at large that is?  Not to mention that leaving a country of nearly 350 million citizens unattended for several years probably isn’t going to work out well.