Saturday, September 19, 2020

Uyghur Lives Matter

A Random Randomnesses Column 

                          Source unknown (Weibo?) - meme banned by the emperor

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

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, and/or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering

About 


Glossary 


Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"A man can’t be blamed for not knowing, but for not asking." -Uyghur proverb


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

Uyghur lives matter. So do the lives of Hong Kongers, Tibetans, members of traditional religions, and members of spiritual movements like Falun Gong. 

...And so do the lives of the Taiwanese, nervously keeping an eye on the Chinese mainland in case one of the current Red Emperor's war games turns out to be the real thing. 

And yet...

No shortage of celebrities and hooge, globe-spanning corporate entities — Lebron James, Nike, and the NBA spring immediately to mind for some reason — who have/are donating billions in cash and pledging fealty to Black Live Matter don't have much to say about what appears to be a systematic Uighur genocide. 

Or any of the other depredations of Emperor Poo.

“Under conditions that strongly suggest forced labor, Uighurs are working in factories that are in the supply chains of at least 83 well-known global brands in the technology, clothing and automotive sectors, including Apple, BMW, Gap, Huawei, Nike, Samsung, Sony and Volkswagen...”

The quote is from a report by the Australian Strategic Policy Institute titled Uyghurs for Sale. 


Speaking of Black Lives Matter, I refer to the national organization and its local chapters, why is the purple press not covering how the donations and the moral support of Wokies and newly minted corporate allies are being used to improve the lives of African-Americans?

The media only seems interested in reporting on (mostly peaceful) protests and the antics of Antifa. I know, I know, "if it bleeds, it leads" (if it burns, it earns? if it's shattered it matters?). 

Journalists have to eat and pay rent too, but depicting how the money is being spent and how the moral support is being utilized should serve to generate more money and moral support, right?


Speaking of protests, now would seem to be an excellent time for the sort of stories mentioned above since apparently the No Justice No Peace Club, Portland Oregon chapter, is taking a breather. 

Poor air quality, caused by wildfires, has put a damper on the activities of card-carrying members of the IUPPPP&PVTTOT and their fellow brothers/sisters/H. sapiens.

Interestingly, the current fires already are the subject of a Wikipedia entry, 2020 Oregon Wildfires. Some quotes of interest from the article:

"Through the end of July 2020, 90% of Oregon's wildfires had been caused by humans versus a yearly average of 70%, possibly because of increased outdoor recreation due to the COVID-19 pandemic."  

"Senator Jeff Merkley, (D-OR) decried Donald Trump's comments blaming forest management for the fires as a 'devastating lie.' Speaking on This Week with George Stephanopoulos, Merkley blamed climate change for the fires."


Speaking of protests again, check out this video:


A handful of apparently confused but determined protestors blocked a bus full of reporters from leaving Disney Word thinking it was the Los Angeles Lakers team bus — which was already gone. 

This contingent of Wokies was hoping that Lebron James and other Lakers who participated in a brief work(?) stoppage to support BLM would join them on the front lines, but they missed the bus.

This article from Yahoo! Sports explains the situation quickly and (relatively) cleanly (I'm so old I can remember reading articles not containing a single tweet). Unfortunately, even if they had stopped the right bus the players wouldn't be able to join them because that would bust the NBA bubble they're living in.


From the news that you can use but probably never heard of because our vaunted fourth estate mostly ignored it desk:  Phones used by the members of the Muller investigation into the Donald and his minions alleged collusion with the Pooteen "repeatedly and accidentally wiped phones assigned to them."

According to a mind-numbingly detailed report by Judicial Watch when the Special Counsel's Office (Fedrl Gummit lawyers) reviewed the phones for records-preservation purposes, it found 27 different phones were "reported wiped clean of all data prior to the review having taken place."

Clearly, Congress needs to investigate why it's so easy to accidentally erase all the data from a given cell phone. Is this true of all cell phones or just cell phones sold to The Fedrl Gummit?   


Thanks Cali! I'm amazed that the serfs of the People's Republic of California don't throw impromptu torch-free pitchfork parties whenever the state catches on fire and their Gaia worshiping, forest management forbidding green overlords blame the fire on climate change.

Californians have been breathing carbon saturated air for the last month or so but lately, when the sun comes up in Flyoverland, it looks like a giant full moon because left coast smoke serves as an optical filter.

Thanks, guys/girls/others! 

Poppa loves you,

P.S. Check out this page that the CDC updates weekly. Of 182,095 plague deaths (so far), 143,790 victims were 65 or older and 38,305 were under 65. 

Since 56,525 were 85 or older, and 363 were school-aged (5 - 24) out of a population of 327,167,434, why are the schools partially to completely shut down and why does the purple press keep telling us it's the end of the world?


Share this column or give me a thumb (up or in my eye) below. If my work pleases you you can buy me some cheap coffee with your debit/credit card.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Cranky's Facebook page.

Cranky don't tweet.      
 

    



         

Saturday, September 12, 2020

Phobophobia

                                             Image by Sarah Richter from Pixabay 

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

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, and/or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering

About 


Glossary 


Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"I may have made a tactical error not going to a physician for 20 years. It was one of those phobias that didn't pay off." -Warren Zevon


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

The original title of this column was Phobiaphobia, not Phobophobia. I was reflecting on the currently fashionable practice (which has lost its charm) of appending the word phobia to other words to create a verbal weapon for use in the culture wars.

For example, Islamophobia, homophobia, transphobia, fatphobia — that sort of thing.

Since I find this a somewhat repellent practice, I thought I was suffering from a phobia-phobia. That is to say, the fear that the Wokies will never run out of words they can combine with phobia so as to keep expanding their arsenal of weaponized words.  

Since I'm a (more or less) conscientious columnist I went a-googlin' to discover if some other witty wordsmith had already coined phobiaphobia. It turns out that while it is used here and there, phobophobia is a commonly used term by psychologists and no shortage of other people 

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, and according to psychology, there is a fear of phobias. Since I really am a (more or less) conscientious columnist I'm going to abandon phobiaphobia lest I be accused of deliberately sowing confusion in a very confusing/confused era. 

[Fatphobia? Who's afraid of fat people?

Speaking as a man who doesn't go to Dunkin Doughnuts for the coffee, certainly not I. Do you consider yourself calorically challenged, Dana?

[I'm a clever literary device, I'm whatever your gentlereaders need/want me to be.]


Methinks it's time to repair to my enormous private library and consult my collection of dictionaries. It's distressingly dusty despite diligent dusting by a designated dogsbody but the fireplace, huge grandfather clock, and small herd of overstuffed chairs make it one of the most comfortable rooms in Cas de Chaos. 

[Library? What library? Are you talking about your Merriam-Webster Google App?]

Did you know cryophobia is the fear of ice or cold? I need to talk to someone, clearly, I should be taking heavy drugs.  

According to Merriam-Webster, a phobia is "an exaggerated usually inexplicable and illogical fear of a particular object, class of objects, or situation"   

Since my distaste/disgust for the phobification of certain words is explicable and logical, and there's no fear involved, it would seem I don't have either a phobiaphobia or suffer from phobophobia. 

Phew. The heavy drugs I anticipate will be necessary to control my cryophobia is a cross enough to bear. 

The bad news is that according to Merriam-Webster (I've always wondered what  his/her/their first name is?) phobification is so common it's considered to be something called a noun combining form and defined as:  

1: exaggerated fear of _______ 

2: intolerance or aversion for _______

I added the blank spaces for clarity's sake. In other words, adding the noun phobia to the noun of your choice is so common that Mr./Ms./? _______ Merriam-Webster has been forced to tweak the definition of phobia. 

[You know, if you were half as witty as you think you are a lot more of your regular readers would be willing to buy you a coffee.] 


Phobification turns something nebulous and undefined into a verbal cudgel wielded by Wokies to bludgeon their (actual or perceived) enemies, and often, each other.

[Huh?] 

Well, "an exaggerated usually inexplicable and illogical fear of a particular object, class of objects, or situation" jibes with how Harvard Medical School defines a phobia -- "A phobia is a persistent, excessive, unrealistic fear of an object, person, animal, activity or situation."  

The clear and well-written article linked to above explains that a real phobia is an often serious medical condition that should be diagnosed and treated by a professional. 

Compare that article to this one from Psychology Today that notes that a "lack of inclusion of same-sex couples and particularly ethnically diverse couples in the entertainment industry, marketing materials, and advertisements" subtly demonstrates how homophobic our society is. 

Apparently we don't share cable providers and she's accessing the Chinese version of the internet. 

Also, she uses the story of the baker who refused to bake a cake for a same-sex couple (and who was persecuted/prosecuted for better than six years) as a blatant example of homophobia. What's the fear of gentlepersons with religious convictions called? Or the fear of spending your money at some other bakery?


In the spirit of if ya can't beat 'em join 'em I thought I had invented a new phobia based noun combing form, caucaphobia: the exaggerated fear of or intolerance or aversion for white H. sapiens.

However, I went a-googlin' and discovered it's already in use so I'm trying to come up with a phobia that would also simultaneously include straight, old, and cisgender males. Stay tuned.   

[But caucaphobia sounds like...]

Once I do I plan to apply to the Intersectional Inquisition for approval as a member of a certified victim group. I bet there's some money in that, or at least some heavy drugs. 

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

Share this column or give me a thumb (up or in my eye) below. If my work pleases you you can buy me some cheap coffee with your debit/credit card.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Cranky's Facebook page.

Cranky don't tweet.


  

Saturday, September 5, 2020

Fall Is Falling

A Mr. Cranky's Neighborhood Episode

                                                Image by JamesDeMers from Pixabay            

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

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, and/or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering

About 


Glossary 


Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"Fall is my favorite season in Los Angles, watching the birds change color and fall from the trees." -David Letterman  


Dear Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders), 

This morning, as I was perambulating about my neighborhood, fall fell.

Well, not so much fell as subtly slid in and sat down like a locally well-known sinner slinks into church after a soul-searing Saturday night, late yet again, and sits close to the door he/she/they just gently closed in order to effect a quick exit.

[Alliterate much? What on Earth are you on about now?] 

As much as possible, and what I'm on about is that although (hopefully) brightly colored leaves and frosty morns are still a ways off... 

["Frosty morns?" Gimme a break!]

I'm waxing poetic, Dana, you unrefined philistine.

[Whatever.]

Well said. Anyways, although the window air conditioners that randomly sprout from the walls of Casa de Chaos like acne vulgaris on a callowyute are still gently humming...  

[For the love of...]

Leaves, hither and thither, have begun to turn and fall.

[Crab apples on the ground have started to rot. Fruit flies gather 'round 'cause they like 'em a lot.] 


I heard a handful of hovering, honking geese approaching and my heart was hardened by hoar frost. 

[Oh please! It was 71 degrees!] 

Well, yeah, but nevertheless I did have a mild panic attack. You know how much I hate winter. I was rooting through my little grey cells and trying to remember if I had any valerian tea at home when they flew over. A half dozen geese in a half V formation (\), headed northwest.

Phew. It's just the boys/girls/um, gang? getting the band back together and working out the logistics for their annual Dixie tour. I've still got time to stock up on hot chocolate, check the blanket inventory, verify if there's enough rock salt in the mudroom, investigate the disappearance of the snow shovel, verify that no one drank the emergency brandy, install plastic sheathing on certain troublesome windows, etceterows. 

[You realize, of course, that the word Dixie might cause you to run afoul of the Intersectional Inquisition?]

Oh well, too late now. 


The Stickies have returned to school in meatspace and cyberspace. "Poppa the printers out of ink again." School busses look like they're transporting surgeons that don't get along.

Wait... you Stickies have returned to school? Now that I'm officially pushing 70 I sometimes get confused. Technically speaking I'm writing to the Stickies, well, mostly I'm writing to their future selves, but...

[We've talked about this. Mostly you're writing to/for your gentlereaders so for the sake of simplicity you... Get a grip and take your pills. Next thing you know you'll be known around the hood for screaming, "Get off my lawn!" at feral cats when you go out to get the mail.] 

Let's hope not, I'm...

[While we're on the subject, some of the neighbors have noticed you spend most of your waking hours in comfortable robes.]

Only because people would think I was weird if I wore one of my togas or kimonos. My slippers have sturdy soles in case I need to go outside and I wear clothes when I go walking or have to go (shudder) shopping. 

[So far at least.] 


Speaking of the neighbors, my favorite Morman (my 80-year-old next-door neighbor, not the sixties sitcom) just bought himself a trike to celebrate his recent retirement. Not one of those three-wheeled bikes with a basket on the back, I'm talking three-wheeled motorcycle.    

He's given up driving truck once or twice a week to maintain his driving chops and I guess the thrill of being the owner/operator of two enormous riding lawn mowers is gone so he got himself a Can-Am Spyder. 

Rock on Harlan. 


I've heard that birdwatching has enjoyed a renaissance of sorts because of the Wuhan flu lockdown. I've had a growing fascination with the last of the dinosaurs for a while now but so far it's one of those many things I keep threatening to do more about than I'm actually likely to do. 

In the course of the morning segment of my (theoretically) twice daily walks I often find myself walking down a certain street that's saturated with starlings. I swear the flock gets a little larger with each passing week.

Shades of Alfred Hitchcock.

I went a-googlin' and discovered that the distant ancestors of modern birds had teeth and that Ohio's starlings are infamous for their rapacious and aggressive behavior. 

What if some of 'em have mutated and now have teeth from eating genetically modified food? If you come across a headline like Ohio Man Killed by a Murmuration of Murderous Starlings it might not be clickbait. Gotta go, I'm working on a movie script.

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Share this column or give me a thumb (up or in my eye) below. If my work pleases you you can buy me some cheap coffee with your debit/credit card.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Cranky's Facebook page.

Cranky don't tweet.



Saturday, August 29, 2020

Kamala Harris For President

                                                                Image by RJA1988 from Pixabay   

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

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, and/or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering

About 


Glossary 


Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"I'm not talking about the neo-Nazis and the white nationalists, because they should be condemned totally." -Donald Trump


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

[Kamala Harris For President! Are you skimping on your meds again so you can afford to have pizza delivered once a week? 

Wait-wait-wait... Is this just your face-saving way of dropping out of the race? Are you no longer running for king? I've heard nothing from CNN or Fox.]  

No, Dana, I...

[And she's not running for president she...]

Don't think so huh? She's... nevermind. No, Dana, I'm still running. My formal endorsement is a purely defensive maneuver inspired by Scott Adams, the IUPPPP&PVOTTOT, Antifa, and Black Lives Matter. 

[Huh?]

In 2016, Mr. Adams (the Dilbert dude) had his lucrative corporate speaking engagements dry up and he started receiving death threats for predicting that Daffy Donald would win and explaining how the Donald so easily manipulates his fellow H. sapiens to get his way.

This was in spite of the fact he went out of his way to not endorse the Donald, and also made it clear he normally doesn't even vote. 

Adams, having achieved FU level wealth quite some time ago, nowadays devotes a lot of his time to trying to teach the world why H. sapiens are fundamentally irrational creatures that rarely act rationally and how to best use this information. 

In fact, like Jonathon Haidt, who proved this clinically several years ago, he points out that often as not we use our rational abilities to rationalize our irrational behaviors. 


For the record, nowadays Mr. Adams is a self-acknowledged Trump supporter and does plan to vote for the first time in many years. Two of his reasons are Uncle Joe's cognitive challenges and because he (or his handlers) are still playing the debunked Fine People Hoax card, among others.  

He's also mentioned the destruction of the ISIS caliphate and points out that prior to the plague the economy was booming and African Americans were enjoying record employment levels that Uncle Joe and the Obamanator could only dream of.

Anyways... Mr. Adam's formally endorsed the Hilliam in 2016. Given that allegedly rational people came after him in spite of the fact he clearly and unambiguously made it clear he was not endorsing the Donald, it was the rational (and funniest) thing to do. 

Especially since, figuratively and literally, people who wore a certain red baseball-style cap were (and continue to be) beat up on a regular basis in the name of social justice.   

Especially since, figuratively and literally, the Wokies have devolved to the point they're now setting things on fire, the rational thing to do is endorse Uncle Joe's regent before he hits the wall and/or is elbowed aside. 

[Wait-wait-wait, regent?]

Merrian-Webster - 1: a person who governs a kingdom in the minority, absence, or disability of the sovereign (my emphasis)

Substitute republic rapidly degenerating into a democracy for kingdom and it works perfectly.

[But what if the Orange One triumphs?]  

There are no mobs of red-hat-wearing Trumpets running wild in the streets. Win/win (survive/survive).  


Speaking of the Dilbert dude, I'd like to personally thank Scott Adams for being one of the talking heads I follow — although we frequently disagree and his ego... well, nevermind — to suss out what's really going on.   

See, as I've written before, my life has been a case study in how to be a day late and a dollar short. I'm an un-syndicated columnist (a pretentious blogger?) in an era in which trusted publications, reading, and word-blogging are rapidly being replaced by (often videoized) podcasts and video-blogging.

As for me, I agree with Daphne du Maurier. "Writers should be read, but neither seen nor heard."

[Stick in the mud!]  

Thank you, Dana. Guilty as charged. 

Although I've always personally been a voracious reader, and now I'm a writer, I don't take this, well, personally. Depending on who you ask, as much as "half of the human brain is directly or indirectly devoted to processing visual information." 

I have mixed feelings about the podcasts that are more like broadcast radio shows (i.e., no video) because they make it possible to add yet another task/distraction to our multitasked lives and ever-diminishing attention spans.

[Huh?]

Are you gonna' tell me you don't know at least one someone who can't seem to function without never-ending audio (and/or video) input? 

[Oh.] 


[Is there a point on the horizon my blatherskitish buddy? You're about out of allocated words.] 

Well, I'm just glad that Scott Adams, and no shortage of others with a clue and who are more motivated than I, are willing to tweet and stream and appear as guests and write lengthy non-fiction books and teach classes and give talks and lectures and etceteratures. 

Your semi-humble correspondent is grateful that he's not the only one that thinks Western Civilization ain't all bad. I'm content to write my semi-humble little column aware that Adams, as well as the members of the Intellectual Dark Web, are trying hard to save the republic (and the world...) from itself.  

 

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Share this column or give me a thumb (up or in my eye) below. If my work pleases you you can buy me some cheap coffee with your debit/credit card.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Cranky's Facebook page.

Cranky don't tweet. 




 

Saturday, August 22, 2020

That's Life

Image by WikiImages from Pixabay
                                          
This is a weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — to advise them and haunt them after they become grups or I'm deleted.

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, and/or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering


About 


Glossary 


Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"So-called real life is just high school with money." -Omar von Puffendorf



Dear Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders), 

That's Life,  and with apologies to Frank Sinatra, Kelly Gordon, and Dean Kay — I tell ya, I can't deny it. 

[Deny what? And what's with all the links?]

It's a phrase from the song, and as to...

[What song?]

The song Frank Sinatra made famous back in...

[Oh, that song. I know that song. It's from that movie, The Joker, right? Have you seen it?]

Have not and will not. I'm not sophisticated enough to appreciate comic book inspired nihilism, despair, and violence masquerading as art.

[Dude!, It won a bunch of awards! It...]

It tells you everything you need to know about Hollywood and what passes for entertainment nowadays, Dana.

[Boring old fart!]

Hallucination!


Recently, in the course of one of my obligatory brisk walks around Mr. Cranky's neighborhood (geezercise), Mr. Sinatra's version of this song escaped from the zeitgeist of the mid-sixties and reincarnated as an earworm within the confines of my macrocephalic visage.

[Macrocephalic visage? Ain't that a fancy way of saying you have a big head, Charlie Brown?]   

Well, yes, but unlike Master Charles Brown, I have a manly trunk and a remarkable head of hair for someone about to turn 39 for the 28th time.

[Tanklike trunk is more like it, and you might be more circumspect about using the antiquated honorific "master," all things considered. Wait! You just did that to stir the sh..., provoke the poop.]

(At this point in the story your humble correspondent's eyes rolled up, a sly grin manifested, and in a singsong voice he said, "dum de dum de dum.")


When I got home from my walk I decided to google the lyrics for That's Life. As you may (or may not) be aware, the song in question was a hooge hit for Frank Sinatra in 1965.

I've developed a recent fascination with song lyrics and the web makes it possible to retrieve the lyrics of nearly any song nearly instantly. I find the dramatic contrast between reading the lyrics without the music and hearing the exact same words sung while music is playing particularly interesting.

If you've ever done this I'm sure you're aware of the dramatic emotional impact imparted to often quite simple, straightforward words when they're sung and accompanied by competently played musical instruments.

Music has the power to tap emotional reservoirs even when the lyrics are somewhat simplistic, or even if the lyrics aren't actually lyrics. 

[How do you sing a song without lyrics?]

Howsabout Clare Torry singing on Pink Floyd's The Great Gig In The Sky from the multimillion-selling, and still selling, The Dark Side of the Moon. (Apropos of nothing much, in today's money she was paid the equivalent of about $500.)

And don't forget the immortal Ella Fitzgerald, MASTER (mistress?) of both lyrical and scat singing.

[Who? What?]

Never mind.


[Hold up a second, you never explained the links that you started this column with.] 

Good point. Mr. Sinatra made the song his own by working his magic and slightly tweaking the original lyrics. Messrs. Gordon and Kay are the songwriters.

[Which has what to do with...

Well, while confirming my suspicion that I'd find relatively simple, relatively brief lyrics — summation: life's an emotional roller coaster but I'll never stop riding it till I can't — I also discovered the song has its own Wikipedia entry

Dean Kay, 80, had and continues to have, a world-class career in the music industry. Kelly Gordon also did quite well  — till he died from lung cancer back in 1981 at the age of 49. 

That's life.


Marion Montgomery was the first artist to record the song, in 1963, but it failed to chart. O.C. Smith, a struggling artist who didn't have a hit till '68, released his version in February of '66. It charted but only made it to #127 on Billboard's famous list.

BIG BUT... Sinatra heard Smith's version of the song on his car radio and released his version in November of the same year. Result: #4 on the "Hot 100" chart and #1 on the "Easy Listening chart."

That's also life. 


On the other hand... In 1968 Roger Miller released a song that was written for him, Little Green Apples, that made it to #39 on the Hot 100 chart. O.C. Smith released his version that same year which made it to #2 and sold over 1,000,000 copies. 

[Allrigtalready! I get it, you're trying to teach the Stickies something but geez...]

Did you know that when Mr. Smith's version of Little Green Apples reached number two that the Beatle'es Hey, Jude was number one? Do you realize that...

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

Share this column or give me a thumb (up or in my eye) below. If my work pleases you you can buy me some cheap coffee with your debit/credit card.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me viaCranky's Facebook page.

Cranky don't tweet.

Saturday, August 15, 2020

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary

                                                 Image by 849356 from Pixabay

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

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, and/or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering


About 


Glossary 


Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader
  
"Seventy is old enough. After that there is too much risk." -Mark Twain 


Dear Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies (& Gentlereaders),

Chris Wallace, anchor of Fox News Sunday, recently interviewed the Donald on FNS. I didn't watch the interview, nor do I plan to. I did read about it, however, and was pleased to learn that the fearless Mr. Wallace occasionally responded to one of Daffy Donald's, um, alternative facts by saying, "That's not true, sir."  

[So you're writing a column about an interview that you didn't watch?] 

No, Dana. This column is about the fact I've not been watching the accidental president for years. I've never seen the Apprentice and I didn't watch a single presidential debate. I've never watched a Trump rally or news conference and I've never watched a Coronavirus briefing.  

I'm also proud to say that I didn't watch George Stephanopoulosese's in-depth interview of Mary L. Trump and don't plan to, but I read about that too.

Being a current events junkie I have seen an occasional video clip. When you frequent as many websites as I do it's impossible to avoid verifying that The Donald vs. the Purple Press show is still on the island trapped in the swamp.

Oh, and before I forget, if any of my younger gentlereaders, or alleged journalists, would like to discover what an actual journalist is, check out Chris Wallace. 

Now, I...


[Wait-wait-wait. Accidental president?] 

Absabalutely. Well, let me qualify that a bit. No one was more shocked than the Donald when he got the Depublican nomination. He wasn't running for president he was just doing his job, hustling hoopleheads for fun and profit.  

He was as surprised as the rest of us at how easy it was to kill all the paper tigers in the circus.   

Once he secured the nomination though and found himself competing against a pair of fellow world-class hustlers, the Hilliam, he played to win. The Donald always plays to win.

[But you said he wasn't serious about wanting to be president.] 

Yes, and I stand by that. But he views life as a zero-sum game in which there are the winners and there are the losers. Anyone paying attention knew that before Mary Trump excreted her version of just how bizarre the Donald and the Donald's daddy were/are.    

[What has not watching the Mary Trump interview got to do with not watching the Donald?]

She's a hustler, just like her uncle Donnie. I don't care much for hustlers but in her defense, from what I can tell she did actually write a book that I won't be reading. The Donald pays others to write books that I'll never read. Hopefully, she'll shortly fall off the radar and I won't have to not read her work or not watch her interviews ever again.  


Now, I did read a couple of paragraphs of his most famous book, The Art of the Deal, while skimming through a copy that a former acquaintance had purchased when it first came out back in 1987. 

In retrospect, I've come to realize that that was when I started going out of my way to avoid all things Trump. Prior to that, I had just been ignoring him. I had thought of him as just another egomaniac that would never have enough fame or money.   

In his defense, he's not actually written a whole slew of books that I've never read. Ms. Trump has only written one book that I'll never read.

[Why are you calling her a hustler?]

Well, she's managed to sell over a million books and the only fresh sleaze she could come with about the Donald was that he paid someone to take his SATs, for which she readily admits she has no evidence whatsoever. 

The Donald should've made her his apprentice back when she managed to get her hands on a larger chunk of her grandfather's money (the Donald's daddy) than he had left her in his will. How did the Donald miss such obvious potential? 


On a related note: I just went to Amazon.com, selected "books," and typed in too much is never enough by mary trump. Amazon provided me with 15 hits, none of which linked to the actual book in question. Some were completely unrelated, others linked to books about the book.

If I didn't know better I'd think that the Bezoid (that's the name of Amazon's lead Alogrithmite) was pulling some crap. But recently Jeff Bezos and the other usual suspects assured Congress that they don't do that sort of thing.  

[If that's true you should provide a link to your alleged search results.]    

Wouldn't work. The Bezoid would access any given clickers file(s) and provide them with customized results designed to sell them something.  

[That's a little creepy.]  

Nah, that's just good customer service. The Bezoid loves you. 


[You were serious, you really did write an entire column about avoiding the Donald! What's your point?]

My point is that the political version of you get what you pay for is that you get who you vote for. 

My point is that most of my fellow Citizens of the Republic are still hard-working, generous people who have better things to do than follow politics closely. God bless (help) us, every-one. 

My point is that our two choices for president this year are two old geezers that are even older than I am. One who feels free to lie to Chris Wallace (and all of us) on national TV and another (clearly cognitively challenged) who is afraid to talk to Chris Wallace on national TV.


My point is that if everything keeps turning to shyte and my grandstickies should find themselves reading this someday trying to ascertain what happened and why they're still paying for it (literally and figuratively) this might help.

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

Share this column or give me a thumb (up or in my eye) below. If my work pleases you you can buy me some cheap coffee with your debit/credit card.    

Although I'm not crazy about social media (too cranky) please feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on my Facebook page.


Cranky don't tweet.     







    

Saturday, August 8, 2020

Portlandia's Mostly Peaceful Protestors

Photo by Amber Kipp on Unsplash

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

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, and/or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering

About 

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"The 99% should be protesting college campuses." -Sebastian Thrun


Dear Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies (& Gentlereaders),

Well, that's that then, things in Portlandia have finally calmed down. I'm sure you heard about it, it's in all the papers and on all the relevant websites.

The nightly protests continue, of course. Black lives still matter and no shortage of Portlandians show up every night for the never-ending block party. Mostly peaceful protesters march around chanting things like "No justice, no peace" and my personal favorite, "Take it to the street and fuck the police." 

Such dedication. Makes ya wonder how they get up in the morning and go to work. 


A week ago Thursday the Feds turned over the defense of the graffiti-covered and structurally damaged Mark O. Hatfield Federal Courthouse to the Oregon State Police. 

That night some mostly peaceful protestors celebrated with a pig roast. They placed a bloody pigs head wearing a cops hat on an American flag and set it on fire in front of the chain-link fence that had been erected to keep them from setting the courthouse on fire.
     


Saturday night a couple of hundred people showed up at a Portlandia police precinct. They blocked off the street, fired up their trusty laser pointers, and began tossing bottles and whatever came to hand. 

The cops declared a riot unlawful assembly and broke up this particular party. 

headline from KGW (a local TV station) .com if you please: "2 arrested, unlawful assembly declared during otherwise peaceful night of downtown protests."  


On Monday night, according to Portlandia's channel 8 (that's KGW again), some mostly peaceful protestors decided to hang out at Portland's S.E. police precinct, block traffic, toss a few things at cops guarding the station, and chant. 

"Every city, every town, burn this precinct to the ground."

Meanwhile, back at the Hatfield Federal Courthouse, a different group of mostly peaceful protestors (MPP) scuffled with the state police that have replaced the recalled fascist storm troopers responsible for inciting all the recent violence.

It was MPPs throwing stuff vs. troopers launching pepper balls. The troopers won.  


On Tuesday night according to my new favorite TV stations website — which helpfully displays PROTESTS at the top of the page so you can go straight to the latest news — the party continued.

"Protestors march to Police Union in North Portland." Some mostly peaceful protestors decided to party at the police unions building. They set up traffic barriers (safety first!) to block off traffic and set a dumpster full of cardboard on fire. I'm guessing they were going to have a weenie roast. 

"Police just after 10:30 p.m. warned some demonstrators to stop trying to break into the police association building or face arrest or use of force." 
                                                                                   -oregonianlive.com 

"Dude, I was just, like, looking for a men's/women's/other's room." (The preceding was a fake quote made up by the irresponsible author of this column.) 

On Wednesday morning the headline of the article mentioned a few paragraphs back was changed to, "Riot declared, 3 arrested after protesters break into Portland police union headquarters" and the story was significantly revised. 

Turns out some of the mostly peaceful protestors broke into the building and tried to set it on fire. The article includes a video. "At around 11:15 p.m., a truck drove through a barricade into the crowd of people. Video showed that a bike got stuck underneath the truck as it sped away, emitting sparks."


Wednesday night... Well, another night, another mostly peaceful protest — except for some not so peaceful protestors attacking the East precinct building of the Portland police. 

"Riot declared, tear gas used outside Portland police's East Precinct as protests continue"

If you don't want to read the article, permit me to summarize. Lasers, paint, bottles, rocks, structural damage, fires, tear gas, etc. 

Towards the end of the article Channel 8 throws in a reminder: "Late on Tuesday night (my emphasis) a truck drove through a barricade and into a crowd of people in North Portland. Video showed that a bike got stuck underneath the truck as it sped away, emitting sparks. Police said nobody was hit by the truck." 

They then provide the exciting (edited) video again, but not the longer version below that took me about a half a minute to find on YouTube. It shows a mostly peaceful protestor ambushing the truck with a motorcycle and other mostly peaceful protestors going on the attack, which is why the driver then made a dramatic getaway. 



I've noticed that KGW8 has used the same subtitle for several related articles: "Demonstrators are out for a 10th consecutive week, rallying against police brutality and systemic racism," and that they've posted the same bogus, carefully edited video all over the place. 

I'm starting to doubt their objectivity. Shocking, I know. 


Thursday night.  Lasers, paint, bottles, rocks, structural damage, fires, tear gas, etc. — and I don't care anymore. 

I'm now researching Louisville, Kentucky. While I wasn't paying attention it looks like certain black people (local Black Lives Matter people) have been trying to sell protection to certain brown people (local Hispanic business owners). 

"- Purchase a minimum of 23% inventory from Black retailers or make a recurring monthly donation of 1.5% of net sales to a local Black nonprofit or organization"  

"I mean, you wouldn't want anything to happen to this beautiful restaurant, right?" (This is yet another bogus quote made up by the irresponsible author of this column.)

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

Share this column or give me a thumb (up or in my eye) below. If my work pleases you you can buy me some cheap coffee with your debit/credit card.    

Although I'm not crazy about social media (too cranky) please feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on my Facebook page.

Cranky don't tweet.