I was desperately searching for non-45 related blog ideas trying to break free from the “He-who-shall-not-be-mentioned” malaise fogging my brain, reducing my food cravings, and maximizing my urge for self-destructive behavior.

I found some non-sciencers who think the solar eclipse is the “Devil’s Spawn.”  Potential fun there.

The Smurf Village in Juzcar, Spain lost its right to be known as “Smurf Village” over a royalties dispute with Smurf heirs.  That’s sad … and seriously absurd.

I shelved TSA pat downs, shopping at WalMart without WalMartians, and the Underwear Guys as potential high level absurdities.

Sorry … but I can’t dodge 45’s self-inflicted Charlottesville non-Nuclear Holocaust.

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Don’t ya just love it when he Trump-Dumps the script?

Over a three day span, 45 uncloaked himself as the racist-bigoted-xenophobic- narcissistic-halfwit we all suspected lurked under that orange mop of hair and falsely reported 6’3” frame.

He bobbed and wove his way through this past weekend’s white nationalist hate fest spewing his warped view of facts, history and intentions as he stripped himself … unfortunately before our eyes … butt-naked and became the self-declared emperor who has no clothes.

Except maybe for the extra long tie needed to hide his genitalia … which BTW, no woman in her right mind would ever want to grab.

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The White Deploracists – I refuse to recognize them as “Supremacists” at anything – stormed Charlottesville ostensibly to protest the removal of a Robert E. Lee statue.  Dressed in paramilitary garb, armed with military styled weaponry, shields and combat helmets, they resembled Storm Troopers more than ordinary citizens coming to town to “voice their opinion.”

What I ask is … “Why did the Deploracists come to defend a ‘Loser’?”

Surely if 45’s already labeled John McCain a Loser … Bobby E. Lee’s gotta be a Loser, too.  He lost an entire damn war!

Harsh?  You ain’t seen nuttin’ yet.

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People voted for 45 thinking he was the “Great Uniter” … he promised to bring all the big deal making biz folks into governing councils to “clean up the swamp.”

Hmmm … as of Wednesday, these Biz Leaders couldn’t get away, far enough or fast enough, from 45’s crash and burn false equivalency remarks, followed by his “hostage speech,” finished with his “Beat the Press” show.

“You’re all fired,” blustered a totally confused and flustered 45 just after receiving the mass resignation of almost 50 of our nation’s most prominent biz people.

They’d heard and had enough of 45 as the “Defiler in Chief.”

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One thing about 45 … he’s consistent.

He’s at best diminished and at worst destroyed everyone who’s entered his penumbra during his seven incredibly long months in office.

Aaah … excuse me while I dream of 46!

Just sayin’ …

Uhoh … Google’s done it again.  Yes … on the famed Google Campus … that jewel of openness and corporate camaraderie … the place where everyone else would love to be.

Yep, that Google.

The nasty, dirty, warty, abusive underbelly of their ideal workplace environment … and unbelievable cafeteria options … has been crudely and rudely pushed in front of the public for everyone to see.

And they owe it all to one guy!  What a surprise.

There’s a man in the workplace who hasn’t learned to keep his fricking’ mouth shut and who then stupidly makes a public statement.

And in case you haven’t read his 10 page memo, he insisted that women can’t handle work place stress and that’s why there’s so few of them in his department.

He was fired?  Great.

But why wasn’t he stripped naked and forced to run through a gauntlet of pissed- off-stressed-out-women as he exited the Google Campus?

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“Going Postal” … since 1986, we’ve all heard that phrase.  Guess what?  Only one damn woman has shot up a Post Office.  Ever!

I haven’t found one headline, or lead into a news story, or breaking news TV special that covers an armed, angry woman barging into the workplace and gunning down hapless employees because she’s been passed over for a promotion … or worse, fired.

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What about “Mass Murderers?”

When’s the last time a woman and her BFFs ran through their school hallways with automatic weapons in each hand and sprayed the student body?

And when the FBI searched her house, was her suburban bedroom filled with explosives, boxes of armor piercing ammo, and extra weaponry … just to express her outrage and feelings of rejection for not making the cheering squad?

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And … let’s not forget it’s not the working women who come home drunk and kick their hubby’s ass simply because they’re pissed off about losing their female superiority and can’t handle the stress of the workplace!

Oh … and it’s definitely not the women sexually abusing their sons because they’re too f**ked up sexually to express themselves in acceptable ways.

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C’mon Google Guy … you’re a way overpaid white male in a dream job in dream corporate environment.

Sure, improvements can be made … but at least you’re working for someone who’s not busy suing the government about covering birth control, whining about health care, or arguing about paying you the minimum wage.

Just sayin’ …

The other day I was thinking about the “good old days.”  You know … the ones before Facebook.

I tried to recall what I did to “make friends.”  It seemed to be really easy for me, but I wondered:  Maybe I’ve lost that touch since most of my friend-making now involved a “mouse click.”

I set out to see what would happen if I tried to make friends with people who I really didn’t know, but were included in the 317 Friends I list on Facebook.  My best guess is that 15 or so are folks I would call “a friend” 12+ years ago … before Facebook launched.

So I found the phone number and I called the first guy who I’ve never had a personal conversation with, but is on my list of “Close Facebook Friends.”

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“Hi FBF (Facebook Friend – I’m not using his real name).

“This is Richard Huss … we’re friends on Facebook.  I’m sure you’ve read my posts even though I don’t recall getting any ‘Likes’ from you.

“I thought it would be fun to actually talk to each other … you know, face-to-face … kinda like non-digital, real friends used to do once-and-a-while.”

My FBF doesn’t respond which causes an embarrassing pause.

“This IS so-and-so … isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

Oh boy … I’ve broken the ice and this could be my first BFF-FBF (Best Friend Forever-Facebook Friend).  I feel goose bumps popping up on my arms.

“Who did you say this is?”

“Richard Huss, from Facebook.  You’re one of my Close Facebook Friends.”

“Hmm … do you have a photo posted?  I’m having trouble placing you.”

“Well … we can solve that.  I live here in Mount Dora and I see on your page that you live here, too.  I thought maybe we could get together and chat … face-to-face … not a chat room chat.  You know … have a beer, some wine, or coffee if you don’t drink.”

There’s a longer pause.  I’m sweating a bit now.  My goose bumps are history.

My almost BFF-FBF takes a breath and says, “Let me check your Facebook page.  What’s your cell number?”

I give him my number and he says, “I’ll call you back.”  Then breaks the connection.

Wow … a non-digital rejection.  That really hurt. This friend making seems tougher than I remember.

Maybe I should drop his status to “Acquaintance.”

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In a bit of a funk, I go find my wife.  “Hi hon … wanna go get a drink and chat with each other?

We’re out the door before you can say “Martini.”

I think … I don’t recall getting any “Likes” from her either.  But then, that would be kinda weird if she started doing that.

We talked like good friends … and, it was a “heluva Martini.”

Just sayin’ …