It’s not a Bear Market in Bear Land!

Teddy Roosevelt’s spinning in his grave.

The Vermont Teddy Bear Company’s feeling the pressure.

The world renowned Steiff Company in Germany is in daily meetings … all preparing for the worst.  And folks … it’s coming … Bear-mageddon!

There’s a war in the “Bear House” and it’s upsetting the delicate Teddy Bear world balance.

This is bigger than any “trumped-up trade war” … more precarious than the North Korean, Iranian and Russian threats combined … thicker and taller than any damn wall!

We’re in the midst of “Trumpy Bear Wars!”

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Yes … The Trumpy Bear is here … and can be yours for two EZ installments of $19.95 … plus handling & shipping.

No … it’s not a blow-up “sex-bear-doll.”

And no … it doesn’t have a pull string to produce a growling … “Oh Baby, that’s it, that’s it!” or “Don’t stop now!”

It’s a plump plush brown bear complete with “Trump Hair” … which you can “style” yourself!

Itty-bitty bear hands dangle from a mock French cuffed dress shirt … and the trademarked “Made in China” bright red tie hangs below Trumpy Bear’s belt buckle.

It’s marketed by a company in Texas … where the bear is manufactured is a company secret.  Let’s take a wild-assed guess … China?  Maybe Russia? Certainly not the USA!

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One buyer decapitated his Trumpy Bear only to discover that just like the real Trump … there’s microfiber filler between its ears.

What did you expect?  An effing Mensa sized brain?

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Find the hidden zipper … no it’s not where you think it is … and you’ll discover a unique Trumpy Bear feature.

Gently probe deep inside and you’ll pull out … no not that thing … a full-body-wrap-American-flag … perfect for those cold lonely evenings you’ll spend watching the video-loop of Trump doing his final “perp-walk” down the White House steps on his way to Marine One … very Nixon-esque!

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Trumpkins are falling all over themselves buying the Trumpy Bear.

They’ve already been spotted on golf carts cruising our nation’s courses … hoisted on poles in front of homes … facing into the wind as Harleys roar down the highway … and yes, sent to our brave GIs fighting in all the places we don’t know about … yet.

Personally … I think its “fab-tastic” that Trumpkins are spending their generous tax returns on Trumpy Bears … as opposed to AR15s.

I just hope that it’s an adult toy … and parents aren’t giving them to their babies!  That would be cruel and …. “unbearable punishment.”

Just sayin’ …

Extreme Curling

If you think I’m talking about hair styles and gel art … think again oh, icicle licking one!

With a gold medal performance by the Americans at the Pyeongchang Winter Olympics, curling has taken over the US of A faster than a Trumpian Tweetfest.

And in our own typical yuuge and biggly fashion … we’ve taken to this extreme like only Seriously Absurd can … to “Make Curling Great Again.”

Think pizzazz … glamour … glitter … bodies colliding … crowds roaring … and yes, it’s a whole new sexy high fashion scene for the new ECCA (Extreme Curling Clubs of America) … get in on the ground floor … franchise information available on request.

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The ECCA has inked a multi-million dollar contract with Jeff Beezos to bring live curling into every American living room … den, garage, family room, kitchen, breakfast nook, and bathroom.

If you’ve got a video device, you’ll be watching the blood-and-guts action of Extreme Curling … brought to you by Amazon Prime and Whole Foods.

Over a two-year span, Beezos promises a Curling Court in the parking lot of every Whole Foods.  He’s definitely got the room since no one’s shopping there anymore!

Plus, how much runway does a delivery drone need?

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Throw away those tacky little sissy brooms.  We’re introducing Commando-Brooms … brooms that whisk so damn fast you can’t see the bristles.

No more chunky Swedes, Danes or Norwegians on ECCA ice.  Extreme Curling demands the body of Adonis … guys … or the body of Athena … gals.

It also demands the brains of Einstein … without the hair!  We’re talking physics with physiques!

This is glamour-sex-dripping curling … costuming by Vera Wang, Gucci, Donna Karan for the She-males and Calvin Klein, Marc Jacobs, Versace for the He-males.  Think skin!

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ECCA promises to make the WWE look like Romper Room.

The new curling courses are pitfalls of body slams, choke holds, pile drivers … blood-on-the-ice action with every push of the stone.

Big Pharma’s leading the charge when you compete in the ECCA.  No more whining about drug disqualifications  … steroids and PEDs are what’s for breakfast … and lunch … and dinner!

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And to jack up the excitement, ECCA stones are designed by a select munitions committee from Lockheed Martin, Raytheon, Boeing, and Leggo.

Exploding stones … fire bomb stones … napalm stones add “boom-boom” to the ice.

ECCA bi-laws, however, forbid “dirty bomb” stones, mustard or chlorine gas stones, and cluster bomb stones.  Collateral damage wrecks audience participation!

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So all you curling wannabes … get your butts off the couch.  Embrace the sex and mayhem added to curling … and head to the ECCA closest to you!

Just sayin’ …

Seriously Stupid is Alive and Well … For Now

 

The “Non-Thinking-Male-Teen-Near-Human-Species” enters the scene … every cell phone’s locked and loaded … set to take a video later placed on YouTube.

An “I dare you!” is uttered from his subspecies admirers and a “Challenge” is accepted.

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It could be …

“The Gallon Challenge” … chugging a gallon of milk, sometimes more … mostly harmless with a lot of vomiting and “laughing over spilled milk.”

“The Cinnamon Challenge” … throwing a heaped spoonful of powdered cinnamon into your mouth … results in a very dry mouth, hacking, coughing, vomiting and risk of inhaling more cinnamon into your lungs than most folks eat in an Airport Cinnabon.

“The Salt and Ice Challenge” … salt down a body part and then ice it and hold tight … results in rapid freezing leading to frost bite and 2nd degree burns … no vomiting but lots of urging on to “feel the pain” … no hand-churned ice cream to enjoy later.

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But this Tide Pods thing … that’s something else.

I think it has to do with guys’ genetic structure and having to prove exactly how stupid we can be … on any given day.

The “Tide Pods Challenge” … like other YouTube challenges, appears to be mostly a young teen male dominated act of stupidity.

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I can understand a toddler grabbing the highly colorful squishy appealing looking detergent pod and biting into it.  That’s what toddlers do … they satisfy innate curiosity … “Oooh, colorful … tactile … in the mouth it goes.”

And there have been ample tragic news accounts of the dangers and consequences.

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But in spite of all these warnings, the aforementioned male-teen-subspecies soon to be scary adult, responds to the dare by grabbing at least one Tide Pods and popping it into his mouth.

Encouraged by screams of glee while forgetting what little brain power is functioning, the male teen chomps on the chemically loaded pod immediately falling on the floor writhing and screaming for relief.

All cell phones are kept tight on the Grand-Idiot-One who will end up on YouTube and ultimately may or may not end up in an ER.

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Thank the gods adults are around … and some think this isn’t a great Challenge.

Tide has taken to social media using New England Patriot’s Rob Gronkowski as a spokesperson … “Gronk” points out that slurping Tide Pods is more stupid than playing in the NFL without your helmet.

YouTube and Twitter have taken down all video and messaging related to the “Tide Pods Challenge.”

Now, if they could just get behind the stupidity of selling automatic military style weapons, we might be okay.

Just sayin’ …

Surprises in the Middle Seat

Just in case you’ve been locked in a closet for a decade or so, let me “jet” you to the seriously absurd consequences of a seemingly benign federal law which allows air travelers to be accompanied by their “BFF Emotional Support Animals” … think cuddly puppy or fluffy kitty.

But the law’s exploded in the laps of travelers making confinement and … “Honey I shrunk the seats” … just the beginning of a travel “cat-ass-trophe.”

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And, guess what?  For a fee … there’s an entire industry that’ll “certify” anything that’s not a plant as your “ESA.”

These greed-mongers created a system that literally has turned “Fly the Friendly Skies” into a high altitude version of the San Diego Zoo … sans cages!

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There was a time when we all had hopes of meeting a “special someone” in the middle seat.  Now, we’re happy if it’s not an 8’ python, 45 pounds of pot-belly pig, or a mini-pony!

Keep it in a carrier in your lap … or in the seat … that’s okay!  But most of these near-psychotic travelers want their ESA to “experience the flight” cage free!

Oh, Flight Attendant, may I switch to the middle-seat, last row by the toilet?

Puh-leese!

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If I’m flying JetBlue I’d be afraid to munch on my free chips or cookies … especially if there’s a frickin’ Capuchin monkey masturbating at me from the middle seat.

I’ve read that there are folks who have ES turtles … they’re okay.

I’d have a tough time with someone’s ES cockroaches … or wharf rats … the big ones with Manhattan addresses.

Apparently there’s one frequent traveler with a large male duck whose photo pops-up online.  The duck wears a diaper and waddles in the center aisle.  Some folks seem to think he’s “kinda cute.”

Me?  I’ll keep my feelings to myself lest someone sic PETA on me.

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I do think we’re missing an important issue here … that’s the emotional trauma for the animal.

Going through security … do they have to sit in the tub and pass through the machine with your electronics?  Someone could shove a pipe bomb down their duck’s gullet.

How long does it take a turtle to waddle through the upright scanner?

How much radiation can our ESA take?

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Where’s PETA when we need them?  They should be camped at the security lines.

I just read about a young traveler who was denied boarding with her ES hamster … you don’t want to know the decision she made.

PETA could have “rescued” it … that’s all I’ll tell you!

Just sayin’ …

Pick me … Pick me!

A new reality show’s stormin’ through our lives!

Cities across the US are soiling themselves … prostrate at the multi-billion dollar feet of Amazon’s Jeff Bezos … Tech’s answer to “The Greatest Showman.”

He’s turned Amazon’s search for a second headquarters (HQ2) into an Olympics site selection extravaganza.

And the “Grand Prize” is … to be the “Chosen One!”

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Chicago promised an “Amazon Sports Stadium” … they should’ve thrown in the Cubbies, the Bears and the White Sox.  Who wants another stadium?

New York took a page from Trump protestors lighting-up the face of the Empire State Building in Amazon Orange!  They should’ve done a light show on Trump Tower … “Orange-on-Orange!”

Sly James, Kansas City’s mayor on the Missouri side … ordered 1,000 items from Amazon and posted reviews for each one.  If KC’s not chosen, will he return them?

Birmingham … posted photos of huge ugly brown Amazon boxes in front of downtown office sites.  Clearly they’re still suffering from the taint of Judge Roy Moore.  They’re out of the running … thank the gods!

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Unlike the Olympics, the winner of the Bezos Sweepstakes won’t be left with acres of shoddy housing … unusable rinks and stadiums … not to mention millions of dollars of debt.

Instead, “City Fathers and Mothers” may just find themselves in a deeper s**thole … to borrow a recently popularized phrase.

Ask the folks who used to live in the quaint areas of the Silicon Valley, San Francisco and Seattle.  Now most are lucky if they can find a room for $1500/month.

The “E-tail Collosus” needs over eight million square feet … that’s a lot of conveyor belts, pallets and boxes.  They estimate a work force in excess of 50,000 … that’s a lot of people to absorb.

And our US Postal Service is already “going postal” … trying to keep up with my Amazon habit!

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Given Bezos’ demographic requisites … I think Mount Dora has a shot at this insanity.

Population Center?  We’re midway between the Florida coasts … part of the I-4 corridor  … 1,000,000+ population.  Check!

Education?  Southern Tech right in our back yard … an undefeated UCF football team in Orlando. Check!

Transportation Hub?  “Leesburg International Airport” 20 minutes away … rail service to Tavares.  Double-Check!

Local Culture?  We offer a carefully balanced blend of redneck and subtle sophistication … mixture of evangelicals and women’s marchers … retirees and young families … along with a sprinkling of LBGTQ and a modicum of homeless.  Check!

And we can easily destroy our tacky citrus groves for expansion … Just ask Walt and “The Mouse!”

Just sayin …

Talk, talk, talk … You talk too much!

Just a thought, but it seems the folks in Washington “working” at our behest could use sage advice from Joe Jones’ 1960 hit single … “You Talk Too Much.”

“You talk too much …You worry me to death
You talk too much … You even worry my pet

You just tal – al – al aa-al-alk …
You talk too much.”

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Politicians like to say “Kitchen Table Talk” carries the vote.

In the primaries, “Locker Room Talk,” man-splained Trump’s pussy grabbing.

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“You talk about people … That you don’t know
You talk about people … Wherever you go

You just tal – al – al aa-al-alk …
You talk too much.”

Recently we added “Average-Man-at-the-End-of-the-Bar Talk” … “man-splaining” the alleged practice of “Average Joes” trashing countries of immigrants “that they don’t know.”

And, thanks to GOP Senators Tom Cotton and David Perdue who man-splained the merits of shithouse vs shithole … while they busied themselves cleaning up 45’s lyin’ shit.

Shit’s shit as far as I’m concerned … and you’re responsible for your own shit.

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“You talk about people … That you’ve never seen
You talk about people … You can make me scream

You just tal – al – al aa-al-alk …
You talk too much.”

Looking back, we had “I’m not a crook” – Richard Nixon … “I did not have sexual relations with that woman” – Bill Clinton … and now 45’s … “I am not a racist.”

They all made me scream!

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“You talk too much … You worry me to death….”

Paul Ryan showed strength and character in a 2016 statement after Trump’s attack on Judge Gonzalo P. Curial … “…. [it] is sorta the text book definition of a racist comment.”

Paul Ryan on January 11, 2018 after 45’s “shithole comments” … “saying black and brown people come from ‘shitholes’ is very unfortunate and unhelpful.”

Hardly a worthy rebuttal to the racism expressed by the Leader of the Free World.

Lindsay Graham used “Tough Talk” during the 2016 GOP primary describing 45 … “I think he’s crazy.  …. a kook.  …. a xenophobe.  …. unfit for office.”

Where’s Lindsay now?

After learning the hard way that he can’t trust 45 … even  after a round of golf at Mar-a-lago … he was last spotted wandering through the Rose Garden mumbling, “Shithole … shithouse.  All I know is I’ve been shit on!”

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“You talk too much
You worry me to death.

You talk about people
That you don’t know.

You talk about people
That you’ve never seen.”

But the “talk” you don’t do … is “Straight Talk!”

Just sayin’ …

Mueller Investigation Strikes Home

Just in on the HHL … HussHotLine.

After his “I-will-meet-anytime-anyplace showdown” with Bob Mueller, “45’s” positions on meeting have been doing 360’s like Linda Blair’s head in “The Exorcist.”  Sans projectile vomiting.

Lawyers for “45” are apoplectic.

They’re terrified he’ll impulsively slip out of the White House after scarfing down his two Big Mac, two Filet-o-Fish sandwich and chocolate malted dinner … for a clandestine slugfest with the one guy who can bring his kaleidoscopic reign to a screeching halt.

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The President’s lead lawyer, Ty Cobb, while sharpening his spikes and stealing second base, stated, “President Trump is fully prepared to go mano-a-mano with the #1 threat to the Free World … Attorney Robert Mueller.

He’s as hyped as Judge Roy Moore at a “Sweet Sixteen” cupcake party.  He really wants to get it on with Bob!”

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Asked if “45” would prep for the big showdown, Cobb rolled his eyes saying, “Of course.”

We’ve remade Rocky & Bull Winkle into six-minute segments of a Russia-Collusion-Conspiracy-Obstruction of Justice, mini-series.  He loves it … especially Natasha’s Eastern European dialect.”

He’ll be like, totally wired … and we’re not talking Diet Cokes, here.”

When asked to explain the concept of “totally wired,” Cobb just smiled and conspiratorially whispered, “Just you wait ‘Enry ‘Iggins … just you wait.”

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On the first day of their big meet, “45” shakes hands with Mueller and they seat themselves across the table in the Cabinet Room of the West Wing … each with a name plate … “45’s” bigger and lettered in gold.

After the preliminaries of name, date, location … Mueller asks the first question:

“Mr. President, did you or anyone on your campaign team collude with …. ?”

Before Mueller can finish, “45” jumps up kicking his chair from the table … his tiny trembling finger points at Mueller as he prepares to scream.

But all Mueller hears is a bellowed, “Mmmm-ararak-grriiiiilll-oooohmmm-screeeeekmeee-schmickishret.”

Gingerly falling back into his chair, “45” sucks in a deep breath and mumbles, “Mr. Mueller, I ………”

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Seated outside the Cabinet Room, Trump’s crack legal team look at each other with sneaky smiles and whisper … “I think we got just the right amount of zap to control ‘em.

Though, just maybe we should’ve placed the electrodes on his inner thighs instead of his ‘nads.”

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Just sayin’ …

Seriously in need of perspective …

Kaboom!  Kaboom! … fireworks explode …it’s the end of 2017 and the start of the New Year.

Slam that door on 2017… what a relief … a horrendous year!

Oops … we’re only seven days into 2018 and gobsmacked over the “fireworks” encountered.

Where to start?

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For sure The Weather Channel has overtaken the Dark Web as the source for threats to humanity.

As if we didn’t have enough to worry about with whose “nuclear button is bigger,” the riots in Iran, and “45’s” complete disregard for Russian digital attacks, we also started this weather year off with a “bomb cyclone.”

WTF?

Two words you never want to hear, “bomb” and “cyclone” … and when they form a compound word … grab your ass and run for cover!

Meanwhile the good folks at The Weather Channel repeatedly scream that more than 125 million people are threatened by this bomb cyclone … Ouch!

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On to Hollywood where we’ve got guys running around with their dicks in there hands yelling, “Now what am I supposed do with this damned thing?”

At the Golden Globes, the stars decided to dress in black showing solidarity for the “Me Too!” movement.  Good!

Better, would be to change the “red carpet” to black!

But I’m most concerned about the announced remake of “Cleopatra” … that Taylor-Burton classic.

“Dirty, bloody and lots of sex” … the words currently used to launch this extravaganza.  Promo I see … “Antony & Cleo get it on in 3D!”

Glad to see that the moral boost from Me Too! hasn’t raised the bar too high in Make Believe Land.

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I’m not even gonna try to go for “Fire and Fury,” Michael Wolff’s … BTW, great name for a literary hit-man … latest dose of Trump-life.

“Fire and Fury” … hmmm.  Haven’t we heard that phrase before?  Korea?

Is it just me, or do others see a connection here … Trump-Bannon-Wolff … lotsa money … Best Seller … mega publicity … three big time narcissists?

For “45” and 2018, it’s apparently just another day at the Trump Reality Show Circus.

If there is a merciful media god … who BTW has the biggest reality button … the show and the nuclear showdown will be cancelled midseason.

Just sayin’ …

The Three Searchers

Early evening.  Stars pop out in the winter skies over Lebanon, Kansas located in Smith County … years ago determined by someone to be the exact middle of the continental US.

It’s getting closer to Xmas and time is running out for the three men wearing raincoats as they enter Pooche’s, the only bar in this town of 309 people – four more women than men according to the latest census.

As the three strangers push open the door, a rusty dented bell jangles announcing their presence.  At the sound of the bell, three old men and a lone woman, the only inhabitants in the bar, turn their heads in unison toward the strangers in town.

Dour looking, dusty and tired, the three swarthy oily black-haired bearded travelers look left then right before silently passing through the small room.  They take seats on worn cracked Naugahyde covered stools at the end of the bar … right in front of a small manger scene.

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The manger appears to have been left in place all year as witnessed by minute dust bunnies hidden in the crevices of the mini-stable.

The men see the tiny Joseph and Mary gazing skyward with complete reverence.  In a tiny cradle lies a tinier swaddled pink-skinned blue-eyed baby Jesus.  The man at the far left snorts when he sees the pink baby Jesus.

Kneeling in the hay beside the manger slightly outside its confines there is a goat, sheep, donkey and a dairy cow.  The traveler on the far right points out the cow and snorts.

Four angels suspended from bent coat hangers float in the air above the manger.  All four are blowing elongated celestial trumpets.  The middle man tweaks the angels with his finger tips.  The angels clack off each other as they “fly in the sky.”  Dust particles sift through the stale bar air dropping to the manger roof like early winter snow flakes.

The middle man orders three bourbons on the rocks with twists and a splash of water. “Distilled,” he says to the bartender, a younger man in his forties.  “Distilled?” the bartender questions.

The man on the left answers, “Yeh, distilled.  Bottled will work.  Definitely not tap.”

The drinks arrive and the bartender asks with a hint of hope in his voice, “Do you guys want to run a tab, tonight?”  All three shake their heads from side-to-side. The man in the middles says, “We’re traveling.  Moving East.”

As the bartender leaves, the man on the right says to the man on the far left, “You got the tab tonight.  I got the tip.”

The man on the right then reaches under his raincoat past his striped tunic into an ancient animal skin pouch and pinches off a bit of a gummy oily resin that is heavily scented.  He places the substance on a napkin at the bar.  An oily stain immediately appears on the paper cocktail napkin.  A soft sweet aroma rises from the substance.

The man on the far left says, “Myrrh?”  The man on the right nods.  They finish their drinks and silently leave.

Outside Pooche’s they look into the sky trying to decide which direction to go when they spot a brightly lit star in the eastern sky.  “There.  That’s the star … let’s go,” says the middle man.

As they walk down the street they hear shuffling behind them and turn, “You cheap bastards.  What?  No tip?”  It’s the bartender from Pooche’s.

The two men look to the man who paid the tab.  He digs into his purse once again and produces a gold coin and presses it into the extended hand of the bartender who now stares speechless at the three men.

He finally stammers, “Can I … can I help you guys?”

“Yeh,” says the guy in the middle.  “You seen a man and a woman – pregnant – on a donkey around here?  We’re supposed to meet them for a birthday party. We got the gifts but we can’t seem to find them.”

The bartender gives them a blank stare and says, “I think you guys have lost your way.”  He pivots and leaves … headed back to Pooche’s muttering under his breath.

“Xmas … always bring out the crazies.”

That “Special Place” in Hell is Very Crowded!

Ivanka Trump started it the other day with her catchphrase that placed Judge Roy Moore in a “special place in Hell.”

There’s a lot of anger in our world today.  And thanks to Ivanka, pundits, Op Ed’ers, reporters, political contributors … just about anybody and everybody writing/talking about politics in the USA has applied Ivanka’s message about Hell to everyone they want to insult, denigrate or disparage.

Like Ivanka, I have my own list of folks who I think have earned a place in that special residence.

I can hear you now … “Oh, Please Richard … please show us your “short list.”

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#1 … The “Christian Soldiers” who fight assiduously to have “Creationism” taught in public schools … as scientific fact.

#2 … That one smartass in the movie theater who sits behind me, thinks he’s a cinema critic, and insists on a running commentary … stage-whispered for the benefit of all.

#3 … The “science nerd” who made it impossible to remove the following “stickers”:  the UPC code, the “Made in China,” the small price tag that comes apart in 4-6 smaller pieces.  And if you can remove them, the glue residue is there forever.

#4 … The four or five guys who kicked my ass all over the parking lot of Murray’s Mau Mau Lounge in Miami (1963).  Angry and hateful!

#5 … Dickheads who take a cell phone call just as they get to the head of the “whatever-window-in-the-whichever-line” I’ve been standing in for the past 30 minutes.

#6 … Anyone over 18 who still wears a baseball cap backwards.  BTW, it’s a scientific fact that they lose at least 30 IQ points for doing that!

#7 … The person who initiated the procedure of keeping my food under a “heat lamp” and then telling me it’s still fresh … when what he was really doing is refusing to hire more wait staff.

#8 … Anyone who doesn’t appreciate all 31 one of the movies starring Elvis.

#9 … Anyone who sees value in the “collected works” of Gwyneth Paltrow … especially her cook books.

And … now for the drum roll, please:

#10 … Anyone who thinks the “Me Too” movement is a fad rather than the harbinger of lasting socio-cultural change.

Yes … Hell’s getting Moore and Moore crowded.  Who’s on your list?

Just sayin’ …