Americans … Cleanup your act … The Bum Gun is here.

I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and tired of feeling like an “Ugly American” … an unclean citizen of the world.

Some of us feel so ugly that when we travel, we say … “We’re Canadian.”

Canadians?  What’s up with that?

You know the Canadians.  They’re the ones who live just north of us and have actually memorized the rules to ice hockey.  They’re the donut eaters and beer drinkers who prefer cold weather, don’t carry guns around all the time, and have good free health care.

Who wouldn’t want that?

Well, I’m fed up!  I don’t want to feel ugly or unclean … For crap’s sake, I might even settle for feeling like a Canadian.


Hell, we Americans got nothing to apologize for.  We show leadership in tons of areas.

No one can equal what we’ve done to school cafeteria food.  Or the Great American Truck Stop … which has no peer.

And we’re fattening up the rest of the world faster than a steer in a Kansas City feed lot by altruistically spreading our McDonalds, Subways and Dennys anywhere in the world we can build ‘em!

Michelin Five Star rated food obsessed chefs?  Who needs ‘em?  We’ve got Reality-TV personality chefs by the pickup truck load.  We’ve got more TV Chefs than the other six continents combined.

Yeah, I know there’s nobody actually “living” in Antarctica to sauté the waddling penguins … but it still counts as a continent!


WTF, with all these huge and amazing accomplishments, why do we Americans still feel like such dumb asses?

Even though we’re possessed, some say cursed by our Puritanical heritage, we now have the opportunity to catch-up with those “Continentals” and master the fine art of … anal cleansing.

We still deforest North America by wiping our freedom-lovin’ asses with toilet paper.  And once the paper’s flushed, no-way-no-how can we recycle it!

Now we can bring an “end” to the misery of our unclean anal state … and save a few million trees, too.

The time has come to say: “AMERICANS, END ANAL MISERY!”

The EZ to install Bum Gun is here … at Lowes starting at $19.95!

And, if you’re too em-bare-assed, to be seen buying your own Bum Gun, order it from Amazon … It’s Prime!

Feel clean with an ultra-clean Bum.  You’ll never feel bummed out again!

Just sayin’…

Super Debate #1 … Party Plans

Just got back from Publix … with my stash for my Super Debate #1 Bash!

Been mentally prepping for weeks.  Lots of suspense … who’s gonna grab the Super Debate #1 ring?

debate-main-pageOn the kitchen counter I sort my stash into my basic food groups:  Alcohol … beer, wine (for my wife) and vodka.  Citrus … lemon and lime.  Orange colored cheesy stuff … Doritos Cheese Nachos and Cheetos.  Ice.  Got eats covered.

But people, specifically Trumpsters, are saying there’s something just not quite right about this debate.

Of course, Don the Con’s already whined that the moderator’s a “set up.”  The Con says he’s ready to have a serious discussion of the issues … like whether Hillary’s “sleeping her way to success.”


So what’s the deal with holding Super Debate #1 at Hofstra University … a school that dropped football in 2009 and just resurrected its debate team in 2016?

Plus, this is the third … get it … third presidential debate that’s been held at Hofstra.  Obama vs McCaine … Obama vs Romney and now Clinton vs Trump.

Over 2500 colleges and universities in the country and we have held three debates at Hofstra?

Could Trump be right?  Is the system rigged?


The run-up to this debate rivals promo for the Stupor Bowl.

TV ads are dead ringers for sports spots … harsh raspy voices barking hyperbolized adjectives at the listener.  Lights flashing.  Music drumming.  It’s “Countdown to Super Debate #1!”

Combatants’ photos reveal their most ferocious expressions.

Questions raised?  Which Donald incarnation will show up?  Will it be the “Tele-prompter-Barbie-like-quasi-Presidential Don?”  Or, the radioactive pulsating Donald?

Will Hillary attack trying to “get under Trump’s day-glow orange skin?”  Will she wear a dress and try to totally throw him off his game?

Just like the Stupor Bowl, we get daily reports about debate prep.  Who will play Trump for Hillary?  Godzilla?

Will Trump even prepare for the debates?  Does watching reruns of “The Apprentice” count?


The bottom line … Super Debate #1 will be the most watched presidential debate.

It’ll reveal almost nothing about the candidates and their policies.

God bless Hillary … she’ll take the most simple recipe and turn it into an elaborate description for a seven course meal.

And Donald … well, he’ll just be The Donald, tell us nothing of substance and Fact Checkers will spend the next three days wondering what he said.

The most fun?  Watching post-debate analyses as the Fundits work themselves into lathered frenzies blathering about who won.

Just sayin’ …

Not another Claxton!

Lowe’s hasn’t put out Xmas decorations yet, but I can already hear the “Devil’s Décor” rattling around in boxes trying to get to the shelves and ruin my Xmas.

This year I’m beating Lowe’s to the punch and starting my Xmas spirit early.

There’s a chill in the air, a spring in my step and I’m already killing brain cells with holiday spirits.  Well, there’s not really “a chill in the air” … unless you count the icy chill in my glass.

I’m actually making a gift list and checking it twice.  I can hear my friends, “Please God, keep me off Richard’s list!”

Drum Roll – batta-boom-bing!  I’m off my tether because this year it’s Claxton Fruitcakes for all.


Claxton Bakery in Claxton, GA.  Hometown of the only gift in America that makes   a box of Whitman Samplers taste yummy!

Claxton’s so bad I’d rather get that threatened lump of coal from Santa for living on the dark side of his “Naughty or Nice List.”

And humorist Will Rogers said, “I’ve never met a fruitcake that I liked.”  I think we can assume he’s talking about the sweet … not the person.


Claxton’s also nostalgia and misery for me.

Every year, my mother bought a one-pounder… treated it as if it were the most treasured sweet cake ever made.

She parceled out one slice to each of us on Xmas Day … and this time you were the “lucky one” if you got the really thin slice.

Mom hid food from us, but the Claxton was the only thing we never looked for.  If by mistake we found the damn thing, we hid it again hoping she couldn’t find it!


As an adult, I gave Claxton one more shot.  I think I was trying to confirm if Mom wanted to poison me.

I voluntarily bought a Claxton – I think it was from some grubby little neighbor kid financing his band tuba, which back then was solid effing brass.

I soaked the brick in rum for weeks … maybe even months.

It was really moist.  A sample made it past my lips … but not down my esophagus.   Thwock … I hocked it to the counter.

Pausing … I strained to make the best of a “glass-half-full” situation.

I grabbed the Claxton and squeezed, draining all the precious rum into my empty glass.  I iced it, added a bit of fresh lime juice, and a splash of seltzer.

A glass now full!

“Claxton over Ice” … I salute you … and a Merry Xmas to all!

Just sayin”…

A chicken in every pot … 1928 …………… A taco truck on every corner … 2016

You know what takes real balls?  Making a tangible campaign promise.  One that can be easily measured by voters.

taco-truck-from-facebookHerbert Hoover did that in 1928 when he not only promised “a chicken in every pot,” but went on to promise “a car in every garage.”

But … just to prove that the 2016 campaign is like no other and defies prediction, Don the Con has made a very real threat … not a promise … about an alleged outcome if Hillary Clinton’s elected president – even though “SHE’S not qualified to be elected dog catcher:”

And the Con’s “Latino’s for Trump” spokesman, Marco Gutierrez, is spreading the word:

“There will be a Taco Truck on every corner!”


Wait a minute!  I don’t know about you, but I don’t see a problem with that unless there’s NOT a Margarita truck on every adjacent corner!

What’s a taco without a Margarita … or at least a solid Mexican beer?

That’s not a rhetorical question.

It’s about breathing life into an inedible unidentifiable protein source, smothered in inedible unidentifiable other things, and topped with a yellowy cheesey substitute … “aqui esta el taco!”

And everyone really knows that Hillary’s Taco Takeover is viewed as an Act of War by many Amer-kans!

It’s a blatant attempt to unseat the hotdog as our #1 greasy meal!


In a desperate effort to gain respect from his Latino “muchachos y muchachas,” Mr. Schlump has also tried to demonstrate just how brown his natural skin is under all that store-bought-orange.

His first appeal?  The notorious “Cinco de Mayo lunch” … a Trump Tower Taco Salad!  That was a limp lettuce and sour cream bomb!

I think the descriptor was, “una problema muy grande!”

Next he tried to organize a National Hispanic Advisory Council.  It’s now losing membership faster than rats abandoning a sinking raft caught between Cuba and Key West.

Now he’s turned to his tried and true tactic.  The Big Lie.  Lie about what will happen if “SHE” wins the rigged election.

That’s the ticket!  A Big Lie scares everyone!


We can replace the Illegal Alien Deportation Force with a Taco Truck Tow Force.  And, it’s a lot easier to tow Taco Trucks to the police impound than it is to drag screaming Latinos to a bus that’s gonna haul them from Manhattan to Guadalajara.

And it costs less, too.

But, surprise, surprise … Amer-kans love tacos!

Who knows … we may well want “A Taco Truck on every Corner!”

Just sayin …

To Floss or not to Floss?

That may be the question, but suddenly millions of us are chomping on our dental plates to know, “what’s the effing answer?”

Flossing-FingerAfter years of dire warnings, what do you mean there’s no evidence that daily flossing is beneficial?

I’ve wrestled with that crippling guilt of being an Intermittent Flosser, or “IFer,” long enough.

Unlike my practiced and earnest wife, I’ve never been able to “finish off” a box of Floss.  Mine always seemed to disappear into the Floss-zone long before I’d used it all up.

I’m tired of suffering from PTSD every five years when I visit the dentist’s office.

But apparently the dominatrix tyrant hygienist who’s so adept at making me feel guilty no longer has me in her choke hold.


Dentist’s office … I’m in the chair … already sweaty and tense.  I’m rehearsing my answer to “THE QUESTION.”

The door swishes open.  My pulse sky rockets.

She sits down and commands, “Open wide.”

Here comes the bomb:  “Do you floss … reg-u-lar-ly?”

With a mouthful of some kind of “berry crap” and paraphernalia, I garble  “Yuhhuh … regraree armos erry dah.”

“Hmmm … we’ll see.”


But this visit I’m locked and loaded.  I’ve read the research.  The scam is over.

O-V-E-R … Over!

I violate all dental protocols and sit up in the chair.  Mouth freed from the imprisoning instruments of dental hygiene, I spit before I’ve been granted permission.

Then I whip out my copy of the recent extensive Associated Press survey and calmly read:  “The majority of available studies fail to demonstrate that flossing is generally effective in plaque removal.”

“That’s true.  You can Google it yourself,” I announce and spit again.

Dead silence as a once sterile dental pick drops on the tray with a distinct clink.

I lie back down and quietly hum a few bars of “Born Free” … filled with a new found freedom having cast aside years of nylon stringed imprisonment.


When I get home, I feel just a bit alone.  It’s like I’m missing an old friend.

I go into the bathroom and hold my Dental Floss in my hand.

“It’s ok little box of Floss.  I’ll still use you … just not everyday.  And I won’t feel guilty about it.”

I then take the six Floss containers I have stored for when I can’t find the one that I’ve been using, sit down at my computer, and Google “Creative ways to use Dental Floss.”

I get 997,000 entries in .70 seconds.  Who knew?

Just sayin’ …