Relax Reince, Hillary won’t win anyway because…

2016 is destined to be a sumo match:

Yet another reason Hillary won't win in 2016

Yet another reason Hillary won’t win in 2016

Hillary got “neo-conned” by 9-11 while senator for New York, and the sad strange truth is that while America still loves Israel, they’ve pretty much had it with the neo-cons. (And no, they don’t see any irony there.)

It is written in the stars that the first female president will be Elizabeth Warren (after Chris Christie screws everything built up under Obama– we shouldn’t have nominated Michael Moore!)

Hillary’s record as secretary of state isn’t that great. Actually, it sucks:  no Mideast peace; no reset with Russia; Benghazi;  taking health-related postponements from the Congressional hearings and then coming back and claiming too much time had passed.

“What difference does it make?!”

Even if she won the democratic nomination, Bill Clinton’s speech at her convention won’t be as good as his 2012 speech for Obama. In fact, it’ll suck. He has his complicated side, too.

“No other secretary of state could have done any better than Hillary under those circumstances–not me, nor any of my predecessors…”

This time, Chelsea will be fair game. News people like David Shuster will be able to speak their minds again.

The two-hour TV docu-drama on Hillary will be produced by FOX–the whole thing will be crawling with subliminal ads for Christie, plus special “web-extra” content that can tear apart any pantsuit.

The Perseid Meteor Shower is SHOT !

Spent. Done.

When I was a kid, it was amazing–worth sleeping out in the backyard for.

But no more. I’ve spent the past five or six years devoting a whole half hour each “peak night” and have come away disappointed.

They say meteors (shooting stars) are a bad sign. Or a good sign.  Some kind of sign. But what about the end of shooting stars?

That could be a worse sign.

Although it’s kind of nice to have one on the younger generation, as if they belong to a less mythic age. Because that’s how I think of my predecessors, so why shouldn’t I get some of that same Time-glow?

“When I was a kid, you could get a natural psychedelic light show just laying on your back at night during the Dog Days of August. No more. Now you can only see it in Vv [Virtualvision].  Poor chumps….”

Southerners Should Hibernate in Summertime

Or at least nocturnal-ize ourselves:  from the time the school year ends in late May until it begins again at the end of August, 7:00 AM is now 7:00 PM and 7:00 PM is now 7:00 AM. It’s that simple!

Call it Southern Savings Time–why shouldn’t our official time be modified by latitude as well as longitude? It’s clearly different.

And let’s face it–it’s fucking awful out there! Remember, 95 degrees in the shade means 105 degrees in the sun, and that’s 115 degrees on the blacktop, and the blacktop is inexorably spreading everywhere down here. But at night, it’s not so bad–77 degrees, balmy, breezy, and shade everywhere.

Think of the energy savings. Think of the night life. But most importantly, think of the tourist industry–we Floridians could much better fulfill our destiny of entertaining tourists if we just slept during the day and woke up at dinner time.

Because tourists, especially European tourists, love the funky, the different, the off-beat, and nothing could be more funky than an entire society that switches to nocturnal living for three months of the year.

(Well, perhaps “society” is too strong a word–“population aggregate” might be more apt.)

So while not every town can be the city that never sleeps, our cities (again, probably too strong a word–“condensed suburbs” might be more apt) our cities could become just as lively as New York City at the 3:00 in the morning, if only for those three sweaty months when no one is in New York anyway.

And they might just be down here, spending the money that we send up to their wealthy bankers and Wall Street tycoons every time we buy something or crank up our air conditioners.

The Gospel of Your Pet

I think my cat is gorging and vomiting up food for the neighbors and the strays so as to “win friends and influence [peers].”

Nobody can eat FIVE cans of Fancy Feast ® a day, plus some assorted low-grade cat food for good measure. That’s $100 a month or more!

And what am I getting for it?  Cuteness?!

I stopped leaving food outside for him at night a long time ago, although I can tell that he wants me to keep doing that.  But why should I feed the ‘possums and the strays or even his own ill-conceived so-called “families”?

So what if he might have sired kittens with some “lynxy-looking” pussy?  ‘Not my problem! Those ill-conceived kittens are on their own, Buddy boy! I can barely afford you!

Even if he doesn’t have any offspring that he’s secretly trying to feed, he shouldn’t be distributing my largess to Un-Worthies—i.e., cats I don’t want to adopt, which is all of them except him. The problem really is a distributional one—the stupid cat doesn’t know how to share!

Perhaps it was the booze, but tonight I let him have a bowl of wet food outside and said: “Ok Buddy, tonight you’re the ‘rich guy’—tonight you’re the one who hosts the party and shows off and everyone ‘loves’. Enjoy it.”

Because you know damn well I ain’t doin’ this every night! Forget that!

And then I suddenly realized that this is exactly how God could feel about me or any of us if he wanted to be a hard-ass about it.

And maybe that’s why He is such a hard-ass sometimes.

Oops–I mean, “amen”–those are sort of opposites, and yet synonymous too in a strange way.

How Sex in Dreams is Better than Sex in Real Life

Unfortunately, I don’t dream about sex as often as I’d like.  All I seem to get to are some heavy make-outs and then a stupid distraction.  That Puritan ancestry on my mother’s side has really stunted my subconscious, but without the benefit of any so-called work ethic as compensation.

However, from the little “action” I’ve gotten, I’ve noticed something strange:  whereas sex in real life feels better physically than sex in dreams (no one over fifteen has wet dreams), dream-sex has a much longer-lasting psychological effect.

Real sex can put a smile on your face for several hours afterwards.  But sex in dreams puts a smile on your face the whole next day!

It seems that sex in dreams re-orders your entire subconscious in a way that real sex often does not.  Sometimes, real sex can border on being a non-event, psychologically speaking. Yet even the most jaded libertine or burnt-out sex-worker can’t help but smile uncontrollably over breakfast after a romantic tryst with the Sandman.

Therefore, if someone could invent a pill that would cause you to have sex in your dreams, or even increase the likelihood of having sex in your dreams, sales would exceed those of Viagra and Cialis combined.

Music-sixteenthnote.png  And the wor-rld will live as one Music-sixteenthnote.png  

Bezos’ News-o’s: Excerpts From (and Descriptions of) The Washington Post in the Year 2020

Please rate your experience reading this news story…

Reminder: you have not left feedback on your recent news consumption…

You can get old, slightly damaged news for much less NetCash®–anywhere from 99 NetCoins® (fair condition–stray marks here and there, frequent inaccuracies) to $9.99 (like new! and mostly fact-checked)

You can be your own reporter and sell your own used news for less than a NetDollar®–the way you make money is on the mandatory $3.99 delivery charge®

For the first several years they actually lost news!

Even during the Great Recession of 2019 (fuckin’ President Christie!) The Washington Post was opening news warehouses all over the country.

And he still drives a 1998 Honda Accord!

All proceeds from the news are invested in useless space debris.

He also purchased People Magazine and still failed to make the 50 Sexiest List

Get a Washington Post-Chase credit card and win Bezos-Points® with every news story!

Solution to Your Writer’s Block: Shut the Fuck Up!

“When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed…[because]… I don’t have to prove that I am creative.”
–The Talking Heads (David Byrne) from the songs Psycho Killer and Artists Only

A fan of this blog sent a note saying they were glad that I am “writing again.”

Thanks Mom, but in fact, I am not “writing again.”  If you don’t see anything posted here, it’s because I have nothing to say–period.

And I refuse to force it–no muse, no news.  Why force uninspired verbiage on a world drowning in wasted words?

The biggest mistake is to think of yourself “as a writer” because that inevitably leads to the mistaken notion that “Shit, I’m a writer–I need to write something.”


Rather, there are people with something to say some of the time, and there are people who never have anything to say publicly, and the former is not any better than the latter, and no one–no one!–ever has something worth publicizing all the time.

If you have to force yourself to write something, imagine how excruciating it’s going to be for us to have to read it!  And think of all the genuinely inspired writing that you could be drowning out by forcing your uninspired verbiage upon us.

So think of writer’s block as a muse of its own, a muse that inspires us to shut the fuck up.