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.  

About 

Glossary 

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?}

...is 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 Marx, Friedrich 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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Vlad the Pooteen's Late-Life Crisis

Putin locks in his legacy

. 

                                Photo by Ehimetalor Akhere Unuabona on Unsplash

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. Best perused on a screen large enough for even your parents to see and navigate easily.   

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

About

Glossary 

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

"Europeans are really dying out!" -the Pooteen 

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders),

Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin is 69 years old. A dicktater's dicktater, he's a fellow geezer who's one year older than me and one year closer to being officially old (70). He appears to be having a late-life crisis. 

{I suspect that once you hit 70 the rules are going to change.}

Not true, Dana. I'm a stickin' to muh guns, 70 is officially old. For the record, being a geezer/geezerette (age varies) is not necessarily a bad thing. 

And getting old -- at 70, actuarially speaking, you have less than ten years left -- is also not necessarily a bad thing. It merely means it's past time to look reality in the eye and make some decisions and contingency plans and ascend to the lofty level of Sexy Senior Citizen if this has yet to happen, assuming one is capable of transcending certain stereotypes.

{Wait a second...}

Nope, it will take an entire column to explain what I mean and I promise to write it, this column's about the Pooteen. It's not often that a certified, unrepentant dicktater sticks his/her/their head above the ground and begs to be boiled in bubbling oil.

"Vladimir Putin has gone from playing chess to playing poker," is a quote and an analysis. I wish I had come up with one of the variations on this theme being attributed to all sorts of people. I think it's obviously true but begs for an obvious question to be...

{Kudos for begs for, rather than the oft and incorrectly used, begs the.}

A cautious and dubious thanks, D. The question is, why? A senior moment? Drugs? 3d chess? Perhaps he's being blackmailed by Hunter Biden (or vice versa) and the three years (and lots of money) spent on trying to prove the Donald was being blackmailed by the Pooteen was a conspiracy within a conspiracy within...

{Oh my Go...}

Don't say it! The Stickies have been taught to say oh my gosh, so as not to offend traditional believers. And besides, As Dude used to say when he was a toddler, I wuz chust kiddin'.

{This column is turning into the literary version of a cute kiddie video.}

Perhaps we'll attract more gentlereaders. My money's on a late-life crisis. A late-life crisis is like a mid-life crisis, less common but potentially worse. Particularly when the he/she/they afflicted have money and power and the Pooteen has plenty of both.  

{If he's successful at conquering Ukraine will you start writing The Pooteen instead of the Pooteen?}

No. 

Now, when a given H. sapien has a late-life crisis, unless they have accumulated an unusually large amount of wealth, this is usually not that big a deal. 

Regardless, their more greedy loved ones have to weigh the cost of trying to get their sticky hands on it, and how much potential litigation will cost as opposed to what the reward might be. And, are he/she/they willing to accept the wrath of their relatives?   

  

Most late-life criseses consist merely of a given individual having second thoughts about how they spent their lives and what, if anything, is to/can be done. Most don't do much. 

They may not have the means to do much, and even if they do most have learned that to be wary of the law of unexpected consequences, know that you can't count on anything or anyone, and how quickly tides can turn. 

A person having a mid-life crisis is more likely to be unaware of the power of the law of unexpected consequences and willing to jump with a potentially poorly packed parachute... pal. 

Ah, but the Pooteen! 

Picture him waking up at 3 a.m. and getting up to pee, yet again, and then being unable to fall back asleep... 

There's something about that new guard...did I remember to turn on the alarm?...man, I could sure go for a cup of hot cocoa but I can tell the night shift thinks it's funny when I order one, it ain't easy being a bloodthirsty dicktater...I thought that by now I would've put the empire back together...is it just me or are the oligarchs not taking me seriously anymore?...ungrateful bastards...Uncle Joe must be even further gone than I thought, why on Earth would he try and cripple his domestic oil production and then expect the rest of us to make up for it...

Ooh! I've got a great idea! He picks up the phone. 

"Yes fearless leader?"

"Tell Minister Shoigu and General Gerasimov I want to see them, right now, and get Hunter Biden on the phone. 

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

P.S. Here's a fun fact for ya, kids. America, which was rapidly moving towards energy independence till Uncle Joe and the Greenies got control of the Swamp, spent $17,400,000,000 on Russian oil last year. But if they keep misbehaving, Uncle Joe is gonna officially shut 'em down. According to Reuters:

"Senator Ed Markey, a Democrat from Massachusetts, said U.S. purchases of Russian oil in 2021 would have delivered an estimated $17.4 billion to that nation. 'We cannot criticize Europe for its reliance on Russian energy, as we pour dirty oil money into Russia,'..."

{As opposed to clean oil money?}

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Hopin' For Some Global Warming

A Mr. Cranky's neighborhood episode. 

15% more words this week at no extra charge!

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.  

About

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlereader  

"Sharks are as tough as those football fans who take their shirts off during games in Chicago in January, only more intelligent." -Dave Barry 

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders),

Unhappily, Neo-Hooterville was hammered by a horrendous heavy snowfall followed by single-digit temperatures not long ago. The majority of the resulting iceberg-covered sidewalks are still untouched by human hands or feet and I'm hopin' for some global warming because for some reason, this, or something very much like it, happens every year. 

As this is being written we're eagerly anticipating the arrival of a few days of temperatures in the balmy low-forties that the weatherpersons are predicting. Fingers crossed.

But as everyone knows, malevolent butterflies on the other side of the world regularly get together in the parking lots of their favorite bars after closing time and flap their wings so as to screw up the predictions of American meteorologists.

Personally, I think the Pooteen or Xi Dada is behind this phenomenon, maybe both of 'em.   

 

Nowadays, as you might imagine, passable driveways are important, sidewalks not so much. The Ohio Supreme Court ruled back in 1993 that homeowners have no legal obligation to shovel their sidewalks and no shortage of Hootervillians take them at their word.

However...

A gaggle of aggravated citizens that managed to get out of their driveways showed up at a city council meeting to demand that the "city" should clear their sidewalks for them. I wasn't there but I'll betcha a bottle-a-pop the fact that Hooterville has been shrinking for years and can't afford to properly maintain the sidewalks currently hidden under the frozen tundra was not discussed. 

And...

I know for a fact that no one suggested merging with other surrounding "cities" and townships that have the same/similar problem(s) and should've joined forces a looong time ago.

{If you weren't there how do you know they didn't?} 

It's the local equivalent of saying Voldemort out loud, Dana, it just isn't done. 

On the other hand...

The good news is that the Hooterville School System, which has been on fiscal watch or in fiscal emergency (with the exception of 2016 - 2019) every year since 2003, was officially released from its current fiscal emergency on 1/27. 

Go Dragons!   

Unfortunately, at nearby Youngstown State University, which despite quite reasonable tuition rates (comparatively speaking at least), enrollment is so far down this year (I can't imagine why) some academic programs and staff have both been cut. Fortunately, the budget for the athletics program was increased by $885,000.

Go Penguins! 

The condition of the campus sidewalks after our recent blizzard made the local news. One freshperson was quoted as saying, “The roads and the sidewalks were disgusting...and it was definitely a slipping hazard for some of the people that have disabilities on campus.”

I know what you're thinking, gentlereaders, why didn't they pass out snow shovels to the students with athletic scholarships and tell them to have at it? I'll betcha a box-a-donuts it's against union rules.

{Feelin' folksy this week, Homer? I know for a fact you came up on the mean streets of Pittsburgh, and Sister Mary Mcgillicuddy taught you not to drop letters when pronouncing words.}  

   

Dang straight. I call it muh Dan Rather, pre-packaged folksy quips strategery. He's got FU-level wealth and he's still workin' at 90 in spite of the Killian controversy. I need a new columnist's chair, and I don't know how much longer my ol' space heater is gonna' hold up.   

{Do you smell smoke?}

Which brings us to Duuude, Dude's little brother and one of the Stickies that reside here at Casa dé Chaos.   

Duuude, who only a few months ago was a tiny kid with a big heart (that he wore on his sleeve), is now a broad-shouldered young man with a topknot and a big heart (that he wears on his sleeve) who once tried out for the middle school football team but was defeated by a combination of 90° weather and a mild case of asthma. 

Now in high school, while lifting weights in an afterschool program he was recruited to play football next season for Hooterville High by the coach. 

A lot of kids young men who have been on the team since ninth grade are graduating this year and there's a dearth of volunteers clamoring to replace them. Nowadays, all sorts of parents would prefer that schools switch to playing flag football, even in Hooterville. 

So the coach is doing what a high school coach has gotta do, find replacements wherever he/she/they can. Duuude is training hard four days a week after school and loving it. He's also discovered what his mom uses Epsom salts for. 

The morning after we got six feet of snow, and before the dramatic temperature drop the next night, Duuuude and a buddy were out shoveling sidewalks and getting all the work they could handle. I thought it was only for the money but I later found it was homework assigned by the coach. 

It seems he also acts as a life coach who has taken it upon himself to instruct his charges in the sort of old-fashioned values and virtues, like community service, that I thought would get him censored by the teachers union or the school district.

"He's an older guy, like you, Poppa." 

It would seem that our tiny high school could teach our local mid-sized college some big lessons. 

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

P.S.1 As I put the finishing touches on this missive a new winter weather advisory is in effect. As my cursor hovers over the publish button there's an additional three feet of snow on Hooterville's sidewalks.

P.S.2 Apropos of nothing above, recently some world-class economists released a meta-study, a study of studies, that concludes that lockdowns didn't do much to stop the spread of Wuflu, but did cause a great deal of collateral damage. 

This story has received almost no coverage by our (alleged) news media. 

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