Showing posts with label the Pooteen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the Pooteen. Show all posts

Friday, December 30, 2022

Little Men With Little Feet

Image by Mohamed Hassan from Pixabay

This is a weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids — the Stickies — eventual selves to advise them and haunt them after they've become grups and/or I'm deleted.  

Trigger Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating meltdown.  


Featuring Dana: Hallucination, guest star, and charming literary device  

"I am not a woman, so I don't have bad days." -Vladimir Putin

Dear Stickies and Gentlereaders,

My late wife's grandmother, whom I never met (I've been told this is not necessarily a bad thing) because she was my late wife's, late grandmother by the time I came along...

{There's something really, really wrong with you, you know that, right?} famous for, among other things, advising that one should avoid short men with small feet. She thought that men of diminutive dimensions could not be trusted. 

I have no firm opinion to offer as to whether or not encountering a little man with little feet is necessarily indicative of anything, but I have personally known several short gentlemen in my life that, if given the chance, I'd cross the street to avoid encountering. 

In my defense, I don't automatically assume that short men, anyone actually, should be avoided based on their physical appearance with the exception of anyone carrying a machete or a machine gun while hanging out at the mall. 

I take 'em as I find 'em. I pride myself on attempting to maintain an open mind at all times. I'm willing to interact with anyone, for at least a minute or two, before going to DEFCON 1. 

Also, I don't think that most problematic short men are overcompensating for their height, I think they're more likely to be burdened by a shoulder chip that is the result of having been physically bullied by men and psychologically bullied by women as they were coming up.

I once met Dick Goddard "an American television meteorologist, cartoonist, and animal activist." He was the creator of the Cleveland area's world-famous Wollybear (caterpillar) Festival. You may have never heard of him but he's (regionally) famous enough to have his own Wikipedia entry.   

{What's that got to do with anything?}

Well, he is, or was (he's now the late Dick Goddard) a very small man with very small feet who was perfectly proportioned from head to toe. This was rather shocking to me because when my late wife and I watched him "do" the weather on Cleveland's channel 8 there was no way to discern his diminutiveness.

{I still don't see what...} 

Well, he was as nice in person as he appeared to be on TV. Also, maintaining a reputation as an all-around nice guy in a blue-collar metro area like Cleveland, Ohio — a city wherein a river used to regularly catch on fire that's now knee-deep in rust — would be tough to fake.   

This brings us to the Pooteen.

{Who? It does?}

I speak of Vladamir Putin, Dana. Who, it turns out, is a relatively little fella.

He's not even all that short, being either 5'-6" or 5'-7", depending on who ya believe. That's about the same size as America's favorite fighter pilot, Tome Cruise. But I recently saw a picture in which the Pooteen and some of his minions are celebrating annexing a chunk of Ukraine. He looks like he would've been the last kid picked when the other kids were choosing up sides to play basketball.  

I don't know his shoe size but I can't help but wonder if Mrs. Pooteen's little Vladdy, who began his working life as a KGB agent and rose through the ranks to become a world-famous brutal and corrupt dicktater, was picked on by the boys and rejected by girls back in the day:

-  From Wikipedia, "At age 12, he began to practice sambo and judo. In his free time, he enjoyed reading the works of Karl MarxFriedrich Engels, and Lenin."

-  He's well known for photo ops in which he appears without his shirt. 

-  He's also well known for breaking into his neighbor's houses countries, folks who would just like to be left alone to pursue happiness as they define it, and breaking things just because he can. 

- Also, he...

{The breadth and depth of your scholarship are truly impressive.}

I'm just sayin'. If it walks like a duck...

Fortunately for his fellow young communists, little Vladdy didn't start killing his enemies, real and imagined, till after he matured, at least as far as we know. 

Unfortunately for the planet Earth, little Vladdy is now aging Vladdy; H. sapiens and chimpanzees share a common ancestor; the Pooteen is the boss of a nation with 6,300 nukes, and history seems to bear out the truth of Lord Acton's observation that "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely."

Brothers and sisters (and others), let us pray.

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

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Saturday, June 10, 2017

The State of the Zeitgeist (3)

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here yet) -- the Stickies -- to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead.

[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View original to solve the problem/access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars
Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 
Iggy -- Designated Sticky
Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

What follows is a snapshot of my/our current zeitgeist. For purposes of clarification, my refers to me, our — varies.

The meaning of our primarily ranges from my extended family to my country, the USA, and points in between. Occasionally, and broadly speaking, "our" includes H. sapiens in general. I pledge to at least try to clearly differentiate. This applies/will apply to all of my State of the Zeitgeist columns.

[Just what are you on about now? inquires Dana, imaginary gentlereader.]

Your back! I cleverly reply. All three of my imaginary writing companions have been away on an extended "abduction" with my alien friends the Tralfamidorians.

Where's Iggy (imaginary grandsticky) and Marie-Louise (my drop-dead gorgeous muse)? I ask.

[Unpacking, and trying to find room to display the half a ton of cosmic tchotchkes they brought back with them.]

The point I'm trying to make about my/our is merely one of clarification. While my audience is a fairly small one I literally have readers from all over the planet Earth. Which sounds cool, and it is, but...

[THIS is clarification?]

Patience. I started blogging primarily as a way to leave a bit of me behind for my daughter and her snificant other, grown-up (eventual) grandkids and (potential, but virtually inevitable) great-grandkids. Also, the vague/slight possibility that I would go viral in some form or fashion and make some money.

I'm still waiting for the money to start pouring in. The ads on my site only pay slightly more than nothing if someone clicks on 'em. You gotta' have a lot more readers than I do to make money that way (via high volume clicking). But that's fine, I enjoy writing.

However, when I started, I didn't think about the fact that, at least potentially, I could reach anyone on the planet Earth who has internet access. Google, who provides a free and relatively easy to use platform for Bloggers called Blogger (clever, huh?) also provides statistics. My favorite one is how many people in a given country are reading my shtuff.

I'm basically just another mostly unknown writer here, there, and also, there. However, in the course of the last week, for example, folks from the US, Israel, France, Brazil, Indonesia, Russia, India, Germany, the UK, and China (China!), have read my column(s). There are other countries as well but Google only lists the top ten.

How cool is that! Well, I think it's cool.

Therefore, international gentlereaders, if you ever find me to be parochial or just another arrogant American, I (mostly) apologize. Also, I apologize to anyone that speaks/reads English as a second language for my tendency to mangle/invent words. OK, let us never speak of this again.

And now (finally), ladies and gentlemen, the State of the Zeitgeist, number three.

° A recent column of mine, Purposeful Polarization, was about how the Depublicrats and the majority of the members of the Infotainment Industrial Complex are attacking the Donald and attempting to bog his administration down by claiming that, with the help of Russia and the Pooteen, he stole our last presidential election.

Although his enemies, so far at least, are still light on actual evidence and heavy on speculation, they continue to be quite successful. One of the reasons for their success is one of the downsides of the living in the Dizzinformation Age. That is, the ability to spin information rapidly and widely, be it correct or otherwise.

There are, of course, endless new stories, memes, and developments — reported on, endlessly, by the endless news and social media. However, if the US was a radio station (Start your day with KUSA!) we would be in the midst of an all, the Donald, all the time marathon.

Healthcare and the tax code are a mess. The national debt increases daily. Underfunded/unfunded pension and social welfare promises keep expanding. The Donald tweets; Congress holds hearings and conducts investigations.

° In other news... it was widely underreported, barely mentioned in fact, that the cost of complying with The Gummit's rules and regs increased by 700,000,000 bucks from 2008 to 2016 while the tribune of the little people was in charge. If The Gummit's rules and regs were a country it would have the seventh largest economy on the planet Earth with a GDP of 1,700,000,000,000 bucks per year.

Mr. Obama likes to encourage the young and idealistic to pursue careers in the public sector, as opposed to the money-grubbing private sector that pays for the public sector. Mr. O. just spent 8,100,000 bucks on a new home in the Imperial Capital. He owns another home in California. He owns another home in Hawaii. I see his point.

° From the Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth Desk: The Donald has decided that America is withdrawing from the Paris Climate Accords. Fresh meat for professional wailers and gnashers.

His enemies declared that he had doomed Earthlings to eventual extinction. If anything, I'm understating their reaction. "Donald Trump Pulls US Out Of Paris Accord In Crushing Blow To Climate Fight" declared the Puffington Host.

He said that he was open to renegotiation. China is bringing coal-fired power plants online even as we speak (but promises to start cleaning up their act at some point down the road). He's got a problem with that. Me too.

For some reason, he also has a big problem with the provision that calls for handing over billions to that zany gang of famously effective bureauons at the United Nations to pay for developing sustainable power in third-world fever swamps.

Now personally, at the risk of being accused of peeing in the punchbowl, I feel the need to point out that our constitution clearly states that presidents can't sign a treaty without Senate approval.

Mr. O. says they can, and he did. Trust him, it's not technically a treaty, the provisions are non-binding. Question, If the provisions are non-binding, what's the point? See last week's column, Where Were You When the Lights Went Out, for the answer.

° On the endless freakin' hearings and investigations front, James Comey, the former head of the FBI recently, You're Fired!, by the Donald testified that... well... it depends on whose spin you trust the most. Mr. Comey did provide some moral clarity for the masses by explaining that when officials of The Gummit leak information, while this practice may be sleazy, if the info's not classified, it's legal. "Besides," he said, "I'm outta' here and I gotta' BOOK deal! Nah-nah-nah-NAH-nah!"  

° In celebrity news, a relatively obscure comedienne was condemned by various and sundry in various and sundry ways for crafting an image of herself holding the bloodied, severed head of the Donald. She apologized and invoked a, I thought it was funny but I didn't think it through, defense. Her "joke" led to various and sundry crazies to make death threats, whereupon she called a press conference and declared herself to be the victim of the week day hour last 15 minutes.

And then, in the midst of this contentious kerfuffle concerning budget cuts that aren't budget cuts and treaties that aren't treaties, legal leaks by J. Edgar Hoover Jr. and decapitated presidents -- evil losers murdered some more infidels in London for the crime of not being Muslims. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.

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©2017 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

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