Hey Kale … I can finally kiss your raggedy ass goodbye!

Kale No! … say “Sayanora” to your privileged position as the go-to Super Food.  One punch to the gut and you fold like private-store-label cheap-frozen-spinach.

So much for being a “trend setter.”  In the history of food ranking, you’re the “Mooch” as the King of Foods!

Hope you like your new space on the bottom shelf of the veggie aisle … right next to the rutabaga!  Jeff Bezos and Whole Foods will toss you outta his store in a matter of weeks.

You won’t hear micro-managing super moms begging their over-privileged kids to “Eat your Kale, Aiden/Avery!  Don’t you want to grow up big and strong … and CEO of a Fortune 100 corporation?”


Kale’s gone as a tier-one-healthy-food and Seriously Absurd’s banging the drums announcing its demise!

In fact … Seriously Absurd’s stumbled on some fantastic food news … there’s no kale in sight in the top 10 trending Super Foods.

Millenials are thrilled ‘cause their penchant for “avocado everythings” is paying off.  Avocado ranks #2 in the top ten.

Even though they have more potassium in them than bananas, you won’t catch me dropping a “glob-o-quac” in my A.M. cereal or oatmeal.

Fermented foods sit atop the list.  That’s really great news ‘cause I just remembered that beer’s fermented … so beer’s gonna be one of my new “go to Super Foods.”

Thank the gods I’ve found a replacement for all that kale I’ve never eaten.


If it’s protein you’re after … and you want to reduce your carbon footprint … scoop up a batch of crickets!

If you can’t get past crunching down on a mouthful of Jimminy Cricket’s distant cousins … grab your Vitamix … throw a handful of the little buggers in … add some new Super Food beets and Kombucha.

Viola … you have a Super Food powered-up “Purple Rain Smoothie” that would make Prince proud … ‘cept he’s dead!

Personally I’m partial to adult beverages … my fave being 6-8 Jimminys-on-a-cocktail-pick, vodka, a drop of Vermouth, a squeeze of lime … shake it and you have a Jimminy Cricketini!  The healthiest cocktail you’ll ever throw down your hatch!

How great’s that?


And … I’m already in touch with that idiot CEO of Chick-fill-a … Dan T. Cathy.

A few years ago he swapped out their best selling coleslaw and climbed on the kale bandwagon … which I knew all along was just a bogus fad … and substituted a Super Food side combo of kale and broccolini … talk about a disgusting Food Flop!

Hey … not everybody’s a winner.

Just sayin’ …

“Not in my House!”

(“President” Trump refuses to address House Speaker Nancy Pelosi using her title.  He refers to her as “Nancy,” which is just another indication of his denigration of powerful women … so we should address him as “Donny” … instead of my usual … “s**t-for-brains.”)


Well … it’s settled!

There’ll be no presidential delivery of the State of the Union Address until the Union is once again … unified … open for government business … providing security, support and services for its people.

It’s because Speaker of the House, Nancy Pelosi has gone where no Republican dared to go …  she stood her ground against our current tantrum-throwing-temporary-tenant in the tax payers’ White House.

OMG, Donny … where’s Paul “Gutless-Trumpass-Kissing” Ryan when you want him?


And when … acting like a petulant 5-year you tried to barge into her House uninvited … Mama Pelosi jerked you up by your size XXXX tighty-whities.

“Swoosh” … was that a “Presidential Wedgie?”

“Whoa!” commanded Speaker Pelosi as she issued her “Address Diss-Invitation” to Donny.

And just like every competent mom when faced with an unruly child, she followed her initial command with a firm, “Hold your horses, Buster!”

Clearly Nancy let Donny know that she’s the “new sheriff in town.”

And according to that pesky ole historical document called “The Constitution” … the House is her domain and she has every bit as much power in our government as he does!


Now we can say, “Hi, Donny … welcome to your first lesson in middle school Civics … the one where you should’ve learned about the “checks and balances of our federal government.”

And Donny … guess what?  You’ve just been “checked and balanced” by Nancy.


Oh … and when she does invite you to deliver The State of the Union Address in the House Chamber … the surprise in the “Nancy Cake” isn’t gonna be a “pop-up-porn-star.”

It’s gonna be a House packed with invited guests representing the 800,000+ federal employees you personally furloughed, made work without pay, and buried under mountains of stress and anxiety as part of your personal reality TV series.

Episode 1 – “My Government Shutdown … Episode 2 – “The Buck Stops on Someone Else’s Desk” … Episode 3 – “Where’s Mitch?” … Episode 4 – “Soup Kitchen Food’s Good for you” … and Episode 5 – “Might be Canceled?”


Oh … one additional bit of advice … Nancy Pelosi is Speaker of the House.  That would be Her House … and a co-equal branch of our government.

Addressing her as “Madam Speaker” might just be a good idea if you want to keep the keys to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Just sayin’ …

Screw the gym … visit the “body shop!”

Okay … Okay … I’ve decided to hang ‘em up.  Quit.  Just let things go their natural way.

Life’s too short to continue this self-perpetuated myth that I could work my way into an Adonis … a Fabio … or even a Francois Henri “Jack” LaLanne … the Guru of American Fitness.

I’ve burned my gym cards … despite their New Year’s resolution inspired “Reclaim-Yourself-Money-Savings-Deals” that arrive daily in my mailbox … I’m not biting.

I’ve walked away from the promises of fab abs!

“Gyms … you’re headed down that failed retail tube with Pennys, Sears, & Toys “Were” Us.


Maybe I set my personal goals too high.

After thinking about it, Moe, Larry or Curly would’ve been better role models!

I know I’d have more coinage in my pockets if I hadn’t purchased a plethora of “workout” machines and bounced from gym-to-gym … always looking for maximum benefit and minimum effort.

Anyway … who was the Bozo who thought calling them “workout” machines was such a good idea?

I’m thinking a “Beerout Machine” … or maybe a “Sleepout” … definitely a “Couchout” or a “Reclinerout.”   Much better branding.

But “Oh-non-exercisers-of-my life” … hold onto your dreams … you can now buy-your-body … without “body work!”

Move over Spanx … there’re new kids in the ‘hood!


Body Maxx assures me that I’ll see a difference in just 14 days of “detox” when I use their waist slimmer with body fat burning products.  That’s the ticket!

Eat my way to those six-pack abs!

Strap on this deluxe Middle-Ages-looking-torture-device and wander around my house … eatin’ and sippin’ and nappin’ my way to maga-mega-abs!


Great for the front of you … “butt,” when you turn yourself around and shake that “booty” will you be … “Booty Shamed?”

No way … if you buy the full treatment of Bawdy Beauty Butt Masks!

Get the Galaxy Kit and you can “Shake it” … “Slap it” … “Bite it” … or “Squeeze it” into a well toned and finely sculpted butt!

No more stair climbers, uphill treadmills … get the butt you’ve always wanted … and don’t sweat it!


To show off your store-bought-bod … you’ve got to learn to pose so your “work’s appreciated.”

Practice the “wipe-the-sweat-off-your-brow-shirt-lift” to expose your rippling abs.  Perfect your “arm-cross-chest-fold” to accentuate your biceps and forearms.

And don’t forget to invest in those tight-thigh-hugger workout shorts so when you walk, your flexed quads bulge through the stretchy thin material.


I think I’m ready for the New Year … and I’m not wastin’ time in the gym!

Just sayin’ …

Old Fogey Tut-tuts?

Oops … there aren’t enough bathrooms.  And …

They dress differently … act differently.

They’re not “respectful” … especially their language.

They don’t understand their roles … their places … they try to get ahead without serving their time.

They don’t understand … that’s not the way we do it here.

Who are “they?”

They’re the new women on the block … or rather, in the House … and the Senate!


In one instance, a new House member was told by an elevator operator when she entered, that “the elevator was reserved for members of Congress only.”

Evidently her dressed-down appearance coupled with her gold sneakers wasn’t the haute couture the operator was accustomed to seeing on his elevator for “the gods of Congress.”

Oh well … we learned in the ‘60s with long hair, no bras, facial hair and bare feet … that our appearance did not always meet the standards of those who controlled the access barriers … like elevators … or classrooms … or churches … or government buildings.


And there’s that ubiquitous “language barrier” … frequently used to keep newcomers in their places.

That one was smashed like a jet breaking the sound barrier when yet another new female … at a private fund raiser … uttered the MF word applied to our current temporary White House resident.

Don’t ya know the tongues wagged on the Hill with that major wash-your-mouth- out-with-soap faux pas … in spite of the potty mouthed expletives that roar out of the sewer mouth of DJT … that’s Donald John Trump.

At least she’s from Michigan and not some “s**t hole country.”


Oh my … we move right on to that “Dancing Rep” … Alexandria Acasio-Cortez … who thankfully has shortened her moniker to a catchier and easier … “AOC.”

Her detractors thought it would be clever to expose her dancing style and technique to the alt-right … who’er still struggling to master a Lawrence Welk polka.

Shades of blocking the lower part of our TV screens when Elvis Presley hit the stage!  It’s the Devil’s Dance … that’s what it is!

I guess the evil of swiveling hips will cause brain damage to those madcap-MAGA-hatted Trump voters if exposed to the likes of AOC dancing in the House!


Yep … it’s time to make way for the newcomers on the scene.

Time for change.

And finally time to add more women’s bathrooms to the antiquated House.


I bet you never thought I could make an “infrastructure reference” in this!

Just sayin …’


It’s January … post-holiday … and, the first month of the New Year.

After more than a month of celebrating with massive food intake, alcohol consumption, germ-spreading-family-get-togethers, holiday galas … and, yes interminable post college football season bowl game snacks … you’ve made “that decision.”

I don’t care who you are, where you live or how much you weigh … this time you’re gonna stick to it.

You swear this is the year you’re really, really serious about … your diet.

You’re gonna lose that weight … plus the weight you haven’t even gained … and the weight you thought you were gonna gain … as well as the weight your best friend, partner or spouse gained.

It’s your time … and this is your year!


To ensure your success, the crack staff of Seriously Absurd’s already done the research to help you stick to your guns … or knives, forks and spoons as you face the daunting task of sticking to it … staying the course … never saying die … or damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead!

Rules are to diets what ice cream and cake are to weight gain!

So … here are some personal tips from my diet plan!


If no one sees you eat it … the calories don’t count … think “tree falling in the forest” stuff!

The corollary to that is … if you eat it off someone else’s plate, the calories belong to that plate owner.

You save a ton of calories by not licking your plate … or your significant other’s plate.  Hey, it’s helped me!

Calories from licking food prep utensils … beaters, spoons, knives, whisks, spatulas, or fingers … don’t count.  If they did, your mom would never have let you “lick the beaters” when you were a kid!

Nine out of ten doctors say that “chocolate calories” are totally offset by health benefits … these are the same nine doctors who told you that “smoking was good for you!”

Calories are measured as units of heat.  Ergo, frozen calories … think ice cream, cheese cake, frozen umbrella drinks … are scientifically non-existent.  It’s reverse global warming.

People who tell you that alcohol contains calories are colossal liars and spreaders of Fake News.  Alcohol kills germs, red ants, garden slugs, and brain cells.  Calories don’t stand a chance in your vodka.  Take it from me!


Follow these rules … especially the plate licking one … and drop me an email to let me know how you’re doin’ for 2019!

Just sayin’ …

So you wanna to be an Ivy League Santa?

Is it just me … or is there a Santa on every corner … in every mall … in every department store stuck in the back corner of the toy department?

Santa’s at December birthday parties … office Xmas parties.

There’s also a worldwide schedule for an event called “Santacon” … from Hong Kong-to-Delray-Beach-to-Paris, a Santa-inspired drunken mob pub crawl … where you dress like Santa and make a Xmas ass out of yourself.

But the real Xmas question is …

“Will the Evangelicals combat these Santa pagans … create a competitive worldwide “Jesuscon” pub crawl … and seat sweet Jesus in every mall?


Even if you’re an old fat white guy with a beard … and can belt out a “Ho, ho, ho” … you might not be eligible to join the ranks of the highly trained and skilled jolly old saints of Xmas … much less join the ranks of the Fraternal Order of Real Bearded Santas!

Apparently there are Santas … and then there are “Santas.”

And to be in that “real Santa” category …  you need to go to Santa school.  Yep … you heard that right … Santas are trained, not born!


According to a CBS News report the CWH Santa School in Midland, MI is “The Harvard of Santa schools.”  You too, can be an Ivy League Santa!

At a competitor school, first time Santas receive a Bachelor’s Diploma in Santa Clausology … your eyes are not deceiving you.

Second time attendees receive a Master’s Diploma … and those who can’t get enough of the “How to Enjoy your Cookies and Milk” course and return for more “Clausing” … receive an Advanced Master’s Diploma.

Only the advanced Santas are taught the intricacies of “How to Hold a Baby with Soaked Diapers and not Piss-off the Parents or Ruin your $800 Santa Suit” course.


The bottom line in all this “Ho-ho-ho” stuff is that a good Santa leads to better business. Happy kids mean relaxed parents … relaxed parents translate into more money spent. A Santa or Ms. Claus who can charm the kids warms up the credit cards of the moms and the dads.


I dunno … but commercializing Jolly Ole Saint Nick like this is truly disgusting.  I think my only recourse is to binge watch my two favorite Xmas movies … Billy Bob Thornton’s huge hits … “Bad Santa” and “Bad Santa-2.”


In the immortal words of Clement C. Moore … Xmas Poet Laureate … “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

Just sayin’ …

Letters to Santa … and replies he wanted to send

Dear Santa,

My Mom told me I’m grounded until “Hell freezes over” … just because my dorky little brother ran into her bedroom crying and told her I said … “Santa Claus was dead.”

What a dirty little snitch.

Now I’ve got to come up with a way to convince him that you’re alive and well … and will visit him Christmas Eve. 

Any ideas?

Love … even if you’re really dead.

Donnie “Red” O’Banion


Dear “Red,”

You deserve to be grounded until “Hell freezes over.”  You want proof that I’m alive and well?

I’m gonna visit your mom and give her some very special adult grape juice and five pounds of double chocolate truffles so she can self-medicate through Christmas.

Don’t worry if she sleeps-in Christmas morning.

As for you … it’s gonna be bricks, ashes and coal.  So I wouldn’t even bother to get out of bed.  Maybe you’ll be allowed out for Christmas 2019.

Oh, and for dear sweet little brother, Danny O’Banion … he’s getting all 13 things on his list … starting with a live pony. 

I may leave you a shovel for the shit you’re gonna have to dig out of to get ungrounded by adulthood.

Lose my address, Jerk.



Dear Santa,

My name is Mary and I’m very, very sweet.  Everyone tells me so.

I know March is a little early to write to you … but, I wanted you to know just how good I’ve been.

I’m 9-years old and have been named “Student of the Month” for 36 straight months.  My mom has the stickers stuck all over the bumpers, doors and windows of her mini-van.

There is absolutely no reason why I shouldn’t expect to receive everything on my list.  I sent it to you alphabetized … by category… in order of my desire. 

Even your midgets … there’s no such thing as elves … should be able to follow it.

Please acknowledge my letter and your intention to come down my chimney Christmas Eve with my listed gifts. 

I’ve enclosed a postage-paid-self-addressed-envelope for you convenience.

Yours truly,

Mary Ruth Sarah Brownlee


Dear Mary Ruth Sarah,

The sad fact is I do remember you.  How could I forget you … you grubby, little, brown nosing brat?

My special gift to you this year is a great big sack of “THE TRUTH!” 

Every teacher you had couldn’t wait for you to get out of their class.  I heard what they had to say in the Teachers’ Lounge … and believe me it wasn’t pretty … if you know what I mean!

Adults have your number and it’s not #1 … so there,  you little twit.

Hmmm, maybe this is the time I should tell you that one of my reindeer ate your list.

Ta, ta, brat.


PS … Elves do exist and they’re pissed at you, too … just one more reason no one, and I mean no one … likes you.


Please note … these letters are a product of the internal machinations of my brain … Santa’s way, way nicer!

Just sayin’ …

The Real Xmas Wars

War’s been declared on Christmas … or as I like to say, Xmas!

Gird-up … this war’s being fought on several fronts and there’s no dearth of weaponry available.

Some folks are flame-throwing Christian soldiers marching off to Starbucks … apparently HQ Central Command for the Xmas Wars!

Others are “War Watchers” … who chronicle events as each salvo’s fired.

Then there are the Christmas War Deniers who … just like climate change deniers and Holocaust deniers … deny that Starbucks even has cups!


Involvement in war requires propagandists and in WWll, they were Axis Sally, Tokyo Rose and Lord Haw-Haw. 

In Korea it was Seoul City Sue  …  and in Viet Nam, Hanoi Hannah waved the VC propaganda flag.

Not to be out done, our War on Xmas has launched salvos assaulting our eyes and ears with charges that explode in front of us declaring … “There’s a war on the Manger!”

Attacks used to come from Fox News’ Bill “Excuse-my-hand-up-your-skirt-and-my-weenie-wagging-in-your-face” O’Reilly … but now emanate from Sean Hannity who carries the Fox Xmas red and green propaganda banner against the heathen masses.


Armies of Starbucks’ holiday cups bombard the pagan invasion of the “Holy Jesus and Mother of Merry Christmas” throngs. 

Starbucks’ refusal to state Merry Christmas on every cup is proof enough that this is indeed a take no prisoners holy war.

The accused war criminal Starbucks is solely responsible for “coffee-cup-carpet-bombing” Baby Jesus worshipers with heathen, hedonistic, unholy messages like “Happy Holidays” and “Seasons Greetings.”

What more proof do you need that this is a real war?


If the religious Christian soldiers are serious about retaking their once sacred Christian ground … known as “malls” … which house the pagan Santa behind “spiritual shields” … then why don’t they invade the hallowed malls with their own Christmas Jesus?

Jesus “loves the little children … all the children of the world.”  What better way to spread the Christian word than a messianic Jesus invasion of the few malls left in America?

Kids sit on Santa’s lap … why not let them sit on Jesus’ lap … and ask him to bring them “a gift for Christmas?” 

After all … Jesus got gifts from the Wise Guys when he was born.


Oust Santa … after all he’s just another old, fat white guy … and put Jesus on the new Christmas throne.

Just sayin’ … 

You’re a mean one …

Thanksgiving’s over … all the turkeys have let out a collective sigh … and put away their “Eat Mor Chickin’” signs!

We can focus now on the Xmas season!

Given the climates … political and real … I’m not sure we’ll hear these old standards this year … “Santa Claus got stuck in my chimney when he came last night ….” or, “Baby, I wanna trim your beautiful Christmas tree ….” and not even the fabulous, “I know what he wants for Christmas ….”

Now, the atmosphere is much more Seuss-ian … and no one spells it out more clearly than Seuss himself … are we sure he didn’t know Donald Trump?


You’re a mean one, Mr. Trump
You really are a heel
You’re as cuddly as a cactus, you’re as charming as an eel, Mr. Ha-rump
You’re a bad banana with a greasy black peel!

You’re a monster, Mr. Schlump
Your heart’s an empty hole
Your brain is full of spiders, you have garlic in your soul, Mr. Ga-rump
I wouldn’t touch you with a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole!

You’re a foul one, Mr. Schtump
You have termites in your smile
You have all the tender sweetness of a seasick crocodile, Mr. Ga-lump
Given a choice between the two of you I’d take the seasick crocodile!

You’re a vile one, Mr. Schrunk
You’re a nasty wasty skunk
Your heart is full of unwashed socks, your soul is full of gunk, Mr. Schpee-lunk
The three words that best describe you are as follows, and I quote
“Stink, stank, stunk”!

You’re a rotter, Mr. Gunk
You’re the king of sinful sots
Your heart’s a dead tomato splotched with moldy purple spots, Mr. Poh-dunk
Your soul is an appalling dump heap overflowing with the most disgraceful
Assortment of deplorable rubbish imaginable, mangled up in tangled up knots!

You nauseate me, Mr. Crunk
With a nauseous super “naus!”
You’re a crooked dirty jockey and you drive a crooked hoss, Mr. Up-chunk
You’re a three decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich
With arsenic sauce!


My posthumous apologies to the Good Doctor … I tried but could not come close to matching his words and style … so I only changed the name of the accused.

Just sayin’ …

And you thought “The War of Northern Aggression” was over!

Southerners have a saying left over from their unfortunate ass-whuppin’ many years ago at the hands of some Northern Invaders … I’m not talkin’ about Canadians … I’m talkin’ about those “Damn Yankees.”

Many still say it proudly … though now mostly under their breaths.

“Forgit, Hell!”

That slogan became the slogan of the South on May 9, 1865 … the day the South surrendered to the North ending our Civil War.


I thought 153 years of post armistice “makin’ nice behavior” would actually assuage those feelings and smooth things out.

But recently, I read about some trickery and chicanery that once again has aroused age-old and deeply buried Southern hostility.

We’re talking about that “galdern Alabama Poop Train!”

Yep, folks … an actual trainload of human defecation sent to the lovely rolling hills of northern Alabama from none other than that den of total iniquity … New York City!


According to one resident at “Poop Zero” … the small town of Parrish, AL … “It felt like the Northerners were trying to pile messes on the Southerners.”

And Southerners are just plain tired of cleanin’ up other folks’ messes!

To prove that they aren’t fools … when a Parrish policeman was told that the 10 million pounds of partially processed human waste was “harmless,” he retorted … “Well, if it’s ‘harmless’ why don’t they just dump it up North?”

That’s tellin’ ‘em and givin’ ‘em “what’s for!”


I can see it now …  a bunch of conivin’ Yankees sittin’ around and musing … “Gee, I wonder where we could get away with dumping a few million pounds of s**t into someone’s back yard?”

“I got it,” yells one stubby cigar smoking bureaucrat.  “We’ll send it to Alabama … they ain’t got s**t down there!”


And before the towns surrounding the Blue Sky Landfill … sounds kinda “resorty” to me … could ask, “Who’s gonna pay our Lysol bill?” … a train load of big-assed-Yankee-doo-doo sat for two months … in the sun … ripening up … while folks argued over where all this s**t was going.

Well … there’s nothing like a train load of stink in your backyard to get your attention that somethin’s outta whack … and you gotta fight it.

And fight it the folks of Parrish did.

Truckloads hauled it all away … and when asked about where it was goin’ … Parrish’s answer was, “We don’t care.  It ain’t our s**t!”


Rumors are that Alabama’s new state flag will proudly display a new slogan … “Don’t Poop on Me!”

Just sayin’ …