My New Favorite Xmas Carol

Borrowed from the original, “The Christmas Song,’ written in 1945 by Bob Wells and Mel Tormé, it’s more commonly known as “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire.”

Feel free to sing this repeatedly … but be warned, it may become and “ear worm” throughout your Happy Holidays … Oops, I mean “Merry Christmas.”

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TRUMP NUTS

Trump nuts roasting on an open fire …

Bob Mueller nipping at his toes

West Wing staffers “sing,” but not in a choir

Wonderin’ who’s wired from foot to nose.

 

We all know he is the biggest Turkey

He helps himself to all that he can steal

Tiny little fingers sending tweets that are snarky

While he dines on his Big Mac MAGA meal.

 

He knows that prison’s on its way

Filled with pred-a-tory sexers out to play

And every woman’s sure to cast her vote

To see if we can dump him from our boat.

 

And to Mueller we offer this simple plea

“Lock ‘em up” until he’s 93.

You know it’s been said many times many ways

He’s a big fat liar with his pants ablaze.

 

And so I’m offering us this simple thought

To all who really, really care

We’ll shout and shout when he’s finally caught …

Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas … to us!

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Yeah … I know … if I had a “Day Job,” I shouldn’t quit it.

Merry Christmas to all … and to all a Good Life!

Just sayin’ …

The “War on Christmas” is over!

Ho, ho, ho … “45’s” declared that the “War on Xmas is over!”

My Vision:

“45” appears in front of the National Christmas Tree wearing a flight jacket donning a military cap … arms raised in front of a banner declaring:

“I’ve Put the Baby Jesus Back in Christmas!”

“He-Who-Temporarily-Resides-in-the-White-House” is flanked by representatives from each of the service branches … decked in boughs of holly … and full battle regalia.

There is no Baby Jesus in a manger … no Baby Jesus swaddled in Mary’s virginal arms … no Baby Jesus gifted by Wise Men.

For sure, there’s no Rudolph in the scene.

It’s all about “45.”

My Reality:

Reporters at the Thursday evening National Tree lighting couldn’t help but notice that photos of the crowd size replicated the empty seats of “45’s” inauguration.

Maybe folks were busy with on-line shopping, or filling the malls spending wildly to keep the hot wheels of our economy spinning … eagerly anticipating their “big fat Christmas present” tax cut.

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In lieu of a traditional ginger bread house, FLOTUS Melania opted for a replica of the White House constructed from 300 pounds of dough … featuring her signature wreaths.

Press representatives started a pool on whether the ginger bread White House was “gluten free.”

The Twitter-sphere was swamped with snarky comparisons to past FLOTUS gingerbread White Houses.  I’m glad we have nothing better to do than diss gingerbread houses … the least edible item ever baked.

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At the Friday White House Christmas party for the press corps, “45” took two minutes to address his “friends in the media.”  He then spent another 2-3 minutes shaking hands with the FOX contingency before he left the party.

Noticeably absent were senior cabinet officials … though Kelly, Huckabee-Sanders and Conway did make brief “Merry Christmasy” appearances.

Also noticeably absent was any reference to the birth of the Baby, immaculate conception or concerns about newly dubbed “Turncoat Flynn” … though it was reported that the press practiced saying “Merry Christmas” aloud without fear of repercussions.

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Yes … it’s that time of the year and I’m sure glad that I can run around my neighborhood wishing everyone a Merry Christmas while I …

Search the heavens for North Korean nuclear missiles …

Dodge illegal aliens sneaking into our country because we don’t have a border wall …

Prepare my bank deposit slip for my “big fat tax cut” …

and … BTW “45,” I really am tired of all the winning you promised me … I’m sooo tired of winning!

Just sayin’ …

Crap … it’s Thanksgiving … again!

You would think that I’d finally get a handle on celebrating Thanksgiving.  Afterall, I’ve eaten turkey at the big table for almost ¾ century.

And another one’s right around the calendarial corner.

Maybe I’m overly cynical … but don’t cast your vote until after you’ve read my Thanksgiving “reality exposé.”

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For many folks it’s all about the happiness of “over the river and through the woods to ___________’s (fill in the relative) house we go.”

But for a lot of us, the thought of spending a long weekend with family relations results in colossal hives.

Hey … what’s wrong with a high-tech Turkey Day visit via Skype?  You can see each other and either party can hang-up to enjoy the rest of the evening.

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If you can’t wait to see your relatives and join in that great big familial hug fest, that’s great.

But even better would be if they lived within a 15 minute drive of your home … AND, you’re not hosting or housing the event.

And because you can’t cook worth a damn you thought the pumpkin pie from the local supper market would be just fine … until your snarky sister-in-law unveiled three pies made from the pumpkins she harvested from her own organic garden.

This is the same sister-in-law who last year announced at the dinner table that she was a Vegan and “couldn’t possibly touch anything that smelled of the sea, sported feathers, or stood on four legs.”

The look on your mom’s face … that was worth the trip!

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I haven’t even mentioned that your father now hates the NFL because the players kneel during the national anthem … and as a protest he’s declared Thanksgiving to be “Football Free!”

That should put your Fantasy Football Fanatic hubby in a great mood.

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Did you tell your son, who’s headed to the local community college after he graduates from high school, that his cousin’s been accepted at Harvard next year?

I know … silently you hope the little turd’s prepubescent balls freeze off in his first Cambridge winter.

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Aaah … Thanksgiving … we really do have so much to be thankful for … I’m just not sure it’s best celebrated with all the family.

Unless you can dash into the den and pour another 100 proof Wild Turkey … that’s a big bird you can love!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Just sayin’ …

I don’t care … It’s still an effing squash!

My attitude about pumpkins is less than positive.

I don’t care how you dress it up a pumpkin is still nothing more than an overgrown squash.  And true to the sound of its name … a squash is a squash … and a pumpkin is a squash.

How can you create inviting food items based on … squash?

Especially when it’s a big, orange, bumpy, wrinkly, totally bland, goiter-looking squash.

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According to Trader Joe’s, and every other food outlet in the US, you make a “pumpkin spice” concoction.

Then you foist it onto consumers as if there’s no end to how they can combine it with anything edible.

Pumpkin muffins with nuts and dried fruit … if served warm and slathered with butter … that’s pumpkin pie without the crust … that’s a big “Okay.”

Cereals?  An entire aisle full … all with a pumpkin spice line.  If Big Cereal can extrude it, they’ll bake it, sugar it, and sell it.

Trader Joe’s Pumpkin O’s, Kelloggs’ Mini-Wheats & Special K, Quaker’s Life.

If you’re a health-nut holdout, just open a pouch of Quaker Pumpkin Spice Instant Oatmeal and lock your bowels with a spoonful of that s**t!

No wonder the old Quaker on the box has a twinkle in his eyes!

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Cocktails?  Surely the Pumpkin Spice Lords won’t invade the Sacred Land of Spirits … our Fall Happy Hour libations.

Aaargh … that’s for the yucch brown Pumpkin Spice Martini … a drink that resembles overflow from my sewer line after a major hurricane.

And for the garnish?  I’m not thinkin’ olives here!

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Push that pumpkin spiced food to the side of the road.

How about a big shout-out for pumpkin spice soap-on-a-rope?  The perfect gift for that guy headed to prison this fall who fears dropping his soap in the shower!

Candles?  Yep … your entire effing house can smell like the pumpkin pie you charcoaled in the oven yesterday!

Driving to grandma’s house? Get one of those cute little hangy-down-car-deodorizer-thingies … and enjoy pumpkin spice wafting from your rear view mirror!

“Hey honey … come check my pits!  I just got my Pumpkin Spice Latte deodorant!”  Scrump-dili-cious!

And finally … in spite of SNL and Kate Mckinnon’s best efforts, there really isn’t an Autumn’s Eve Pumpkin Spice Douche … but, there probably will be for the 2018 fall season.

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Oh, boy … I can’t wait for Thanksgiving … turkey, cranberries and forced-family-get-togethers … all the things I love!

Just sayin’ …

“Lookin’ for loofah’s in all the wrong places …”

 

Don’t know about you, but I thought I’d heard just about everything there was to hear about those wild and crazy Florida transplants living in The Villages, the largest 55+ community in the US.

Now I gotta admit I’m gobsmacked by the latest info leakin’ from this quasi-Disney-esque enchanted world for seniors.

We’re talking sex-athons in The Villages … that are initiated by loofahs hanging from the aerials of a lot of tricked-out golf carts … the primary means of Villagers’ transportation.

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Loofah’s have replaced the pile of hotel room keys or car keys used for hookups … so “Yesterday!”

Your “loofahed” golf cart is your personal and very public signature that you’re ready, willing and able to have sex … apparently just about any time, any place, with anybody.

What could be more public than racing through The Villages’ streets with your loofah making like that old “fox tail” riding the wind in your 1957 fire engine red Ford T-Bird?

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Living up to it’s reputation as one of the highest, if not THE highest rate of STD’s in the country – that’s right, country not county – The Village People seem to be amped up trying to makeup for a lost youth spent working, raising kids, mowing lawns, and in general having absolutely no fun.

That is until now!

Reports of golf cart sex … most don’t even have a back seat … bring to mind body positions that’re possible only if your creaky bones have been loosened and your muscles honed by months of Yoga, Pilates, Jazzercize and Zumba … all of which are conveniently offered right there in The Villages … along with a not-so-hidden-underground black market for Viagra.

There are a lotta Boomers in The Villages … and they’re determined to carry that Boomer Banner of carrying sexual records to their graves.

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Fueled by daily 11AM-to-Closing Happy Hours, everyday at The Villages replicates the halcyon days of Florida-Georgia football craziness in the old Jacksonville Gator Bowl.

But that was just one weekend each year.  In The Villages, it’s the weekend all day every day!

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So if you’re “tired of lookin’ for love in all the wrong places” and simply want to look for a hot, sexy loofah in the right places … why not give it a shot?

More than 150,000 people live in The Villages … and they can’t all be wrong … can they?

Just sayin’ …

Grudge Match: God vs Bill O’Reilly

Bill O’Reilly, Fox Broadcasting’s arbiter of moral values and women’s private parts, has had it with God.

“You know, am I mad at God?  Yeah, I’m mad at him,” O’Reilly said in a recent podcast after being outted for his 32 million dollar sexual harassment settlement.

Meanwhile from on high, Heavenly Leakers spread the word … O’Reilly may be mad … but God’s eternally pissed.

After Mr. O’Reilly’s grandstand play … God’s on a mission to teach O’Reilly a lesson for all-time … up close and personal!

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It’s clear O’Reilly’s missed the whole Adam-Eve-Eden-scandal of original sin … man’s falling from grace.

God’s decided that it’s gonna take a good ‘ole fashioned ass whuppin’ to convince the wrinkled-prune-of-a-dried-up-wannabe-sex-symbol, that if your arms aren’t long enough to box with God … you shouldn’t!

Here’s the message delivered to the masses though his Son and manager …  “God’s Ready to Rumble!”

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“In this digital age, we’re not sending Moses to lay down a few simple rules of the road to a wandering ragtag Lost Tribe,” says Jesus.

No clay tablets here … look for a mass worldwide broadcast in 3D on HTV … that’s Heavenly TV to you Heathens, Pagans and non-believers.

“There’s only one way to settle this … and that’s to climb in the ring with the Supreme Gladiator … God the Father.

“Watch God ‘Open a can of Whup Ass’ on O’Reilly for only $6.66 … which includes two pair of 3D glasses.

“Dad just wants to get O’Reilly into the ring with Him.  We’re way beyond a Sunday School lesson with this guy.

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At the prefight weigh in, which was a formality since God has no measureable physical form, the Gladiator Supreme and the One-Who-Denigrates-Women faced off.

God suggested that Mr. O’Reilly, clearly the underdog, review the Old Testament and come to the fight Samson-like … armed with the jawbone of an ass … or emulate David with a few smooth flat river rocks and a sling.

O’Reilly implored God to take this opportunity to show His magnanimity and forgiveness to “Man-Kind” starting with him … Bill O’Reilly.

That produced a laugh from the Almighty One that rocked the heavens and sent O’Reilly scurrying rat-like back to his locker room hidey-hole … for more “locker room talk.”

The last words heard from O’Reilly were … “Tell Him I’ll donate 32 million to any church he wants … I promise.  I swear.  Oh, please God … it’ll be a ‘Deal made in Heaven!’”

Just sayin’ …

From the Magic 8 Ball to Siri

Seems to me that the world’s becoming smarter and smarter … if you’re talking digital, not biological life.

Based on the last few weeks and our politics, however, I’d say the biological side seems to be getting dumber and dumber.

But in our household, we’ve taken steps to combat that slide and boost our access to “AI” … Artificial Intelligence.

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This slippery slope started for me with the old Magic 8-Ball … Mattel’s 1950’s fortune teller designed for kids.

A 20 sided icosahedral die floated in a bluish liquid … and when turned over, in a small window the 8-Ball revealed its answer to any question asked.

I spent hours with it … and still have one to guide me through my tougher days … which appear with great frequency thanks to the Freeing of OJ, the White House being occupied by a man with “Hooker Hair” … and a mountain of evidence that Mother Nature is really pissed.

For the sake of full disclosure, I also have an “Ask Jesus” and an “Ask Buddha.”  Just making sure I’ve covered all my bases.

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Not too long ago, my wife, who’s never consulted any of my personal Oracles, somehow allowed Siri to join our household.

I have no clue where Siri came from or how she became a member of our family … I just know she’s here because I hear my wife talking with her regularly.

In fact, she talks with Siri more than she talks with me … though I haven’t heard her say “Goodnight, Siri” … yet.

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Before Siri, I enjoyed a secure family position … as “The Answer Man.”

Even Rani, our standard poodle who has the intellectual abilities of a toddler, looked to me for guidance.

But now, when I hear a question I pause before I volunteer the full depth of my understanding of all facets of life.  I’ve learned to rather timidly say … “Are you asking Siri, or me?”

It’s a real blow to my very fragile ego to no longer be The Source for all answers … good, bad, true, false … whether data or knowledge is required.

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But … before you feel too sorry for me, you need to know I’ve drawn my own “red line in the sand” … there’ll never be a “Smart Refrigerator” in my house!

A man’s gotta know when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em.

Just sayin’ …

45’s Amazing Disappearing Cabinet

“You’re fired!”

“You can’t fire me … I quit!”

This dialog, once reserved only for “The Apprentice,” now reverberates throughout the halls of the West Wing.

Who’s next to go?  Las Vegas odds makers placed “even money” on …

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Rex “I’ll-Never-Admit-I-Called-The-F**king-Moron-A-F**king-Moron” Tillerson

Steven “My-New-Wife’s-Really-Nice-Once-You-Get-To-Know-Her” Mnuchin

Ryan “I’ll-Get-That-Alaska-Senate-Witch-Yet” Zinke

Jeff “I’m-NOT-A-Keebler-Elf” Sessions, and

Scott “Wow-I-Never-Thought-They-Would-Get-Price” Pruitt.

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As for other Cabinet officers … their positions are inconsequential.  They might as well be ambassadors to Nambia or some other place 45 can’t pronounce, remember, or has made up in his not-so-fertile imagination.

Hey, Newt and his wife, Caligula … oops, I mean Callista, are hanging with Pope Frank in “The Vat” … that’s not a bad gig.

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Cabinet members make a lousy $199,700 … so the big question is:  Who would be stupid enough to put up with 45 for that?  The Speaker of the House gets $237,500 and better vacation time … plus, he doesn’t have to perform a daily pucker-and-plant on 45’s big fat ass.

Switch-out rumors flew through the White House Press Corps about 45’s “first lady” – Ivana – replacing Tillerson.  According to leaks, 45 thought she’d be a shoo-in … a “natural” with her “yuuge and biggly” thick foreign accent.

Melania quickly squelched that when she bitch-slapped her Balkan cousin last week like only the real First Lady could!

Then she gave 45 “that look” … and he caved in a New York minute.

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From his perch high atop Breitbart, Steve “I’m-Still-The-Power-Behind-The-Thrown” Bannon suggested 45 hold a “Red State Lottery” and pick someone from his base to be the next member of his cabinet.

Pick now … replace later … that way there’d be a smooth transition when a vacancy occurred.

Qualifications?  Fuh-ged-about-‘em!  No one in the current cabinet’s qualified.

Security clearances?  Not a problem … just ask Jared to help fill out the security forms.

At least there’d be one person in 45’s base who actually got one of the jobs he promised during his campaign … and government health care, too.

It’s a win-win!

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And, there’s always room for another retired general in the cabinet.  According to census data 4,700 of ‘em are still alive and kicking … and looking for a war … any war!

And if that doesn’t float your boat, past contestants from “Apprentice” have all written their names on slips of paper and tossed them in a hat which sits on 45’s “Oval Orifice” desk.

The possibilities appear to be endless.

Just sayin’ …

The Dead Man Fanny Pack

Did ya miss me?  Huh?  Huh?

So I’m trying to catch-up after almost two weeks of being in digital lockdown thanks to Hurricane Irma.

While “speed reading” thru emails and junk mail … BTW, I love my SPAM mail …  I catch a headline …”Dead Man Fanny Packs.”

I immediately think … blog material!

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First thoughts … is this a Fanny Pack for a dead man, or for the sake of PC’ness … Dead Person?

If so, then said dead person can carry some personal possessions to a Final Destination because, tucked neatly under his final suit jacket at his funeral, he’s wearing a … “Dead Man Fanny Pack” purchased directly from the funeral home for a small added cost.

I like that image.

It’s kinda like the burial traditions of other civilizations where personal possessions accompanied the deceased on their journey forward to the next world … or final resting place.

My Dad coulda used more golf balls for his afterlife trip.  He had a penchant for losin’ them … a terrible golfer.

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Second thoughts … Hmmm, maybe this is a Fanny Pack based on Thomas Harris’ “Silence of the Lambs.”  In addition to the gourmet cook and crazy man, Hannibal “The Cannibal” Lector, he gave us that quintessential serial killer, “Buffalo Bill” … the guy who got off on skinning women to remake “skin suits.”

Fanny Packs made from human skins … “Dead Man” Fanny Packs!

No way … a lotta weird stuff’s sold on the Internet but I think that one’s a stretch.

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By now I’ve turned to Dr. Google for the answer to my way overly fertile imagination.

Turns out that the Dead Man Fanny Pack’s a Halloween promotional item based on the Mexican celebration … “Dia de los Muertos,” or “Day of the Dead.”  Crap … and here I thought I had a rabbit to run that was very seriously absurd.

But I did notice one company selling the Packs was ironically seriously absurd … promoting their Dead Man Fanny Pack with a “lifetime guarantee.”

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Apparently, the only thing serious and absurd about this topic is my brain.  But, then you know that while I only suspect it.

Just sayin’ …

Killer Fashions: “You too, can stand your ground, look good, and quick-draw!”

When the models strut down this high fashion runway, you’d better duck for cover.  They’re all packin’ and you’ll be the last to know … ‘cause you’re watching a “Concealed Carry Fashion Show!”

It’s the hottest fashion show to hit the scene since Victoria’s Secret Angel’s got their wings.  No competition from Vickie’s Angels … in their show, they don’t conceal anything!

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Playing “hide and seek” with your gun’s allowed now in all 50 of our somewhat united states.

Gone is the “Goth-Hit-Man-Black-Trench-Coat” look of the misfit teen shooters at Columbine High School.  The NRA’s moved on to another capitalist high value money target.

And now they’ve created the “lookin’-good-while-you-carry” market to exploit the fastest growing group of US gun owners … WOMEN!!

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Look for big changes in “first date” protocols.

Women won’t be victimized by “kiss and tell” when they can “stand their own ground” and say … “Kiss and tell?  I’ll blow your punk-ass away!”

A confused groping guy mumbles … “Is that a .38 in your bra, or are you a 38?”

A man approaches … and, with a wink you use that old Mae West line … “Is that a Glock in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?”

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Yep … designers have holsters for anywhere you can hide an armament on your body.  And gun manufacturers have custom complementary gun colors to match.

At the 2017 NRA “Concealed Carry Fashion Show,” one of the hottest items was “Lethal Lace” … a sexy wraparound holster strapped to a woman’s waist or thigh.

You can almost hear the TV commercial … “Come to Victoria’s Secret first … then duck into Smith and Wesson for your matching custom colored ‘tuck-away.’”

If you want to carry “off-body,” Gun Purses with special compartments for your weapon of choice set you back a few hundred bucks.

If you opt for the Non-PETA approved ostrich or crocodile skin, it’ll run you several thousand!

With a Gun Purse, there’s plenty of room for makeup, cash, credit cards … mace, pepper spray and a spare condom … along with your “sexy bang-bang” and extra ammo clips.

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Wait a minute … you won’t believe this!

I just learned that Texas also grants open carry for swords!

If you don’t want to shoot ‘em … you can stick ‘em!

Whatta a great opportunity for self-expression!  Texas, you folks rock!

Just sayin’ …