Friday, September 29, 2017
In a recent interview with Charlie Rose, embittered loser Hillary Clinton advanced the idea that President Trump is no better than Vladimir Putin, and added "Hopefully he hasn't ordered the killings of people and journalists and the like."
Ironically, she made this statement only days after a blogger who created "fake news" during the election cycle and credited himself with helping Trump win was found dead as a doornail at age 38. Initial speculation is that he overdosed on prescription medication, which is easy to do when a sawed off shotgun is held to your head and you're ordered to keep swallowing pills.
Ignoring for the moment the huge likelihood that Hillary has personally ordered more killings than the Cosa Nostra, her murderous accusations about a sitting President of the United States are beyond despicable.
We'd say more, but we don't want to suddenly meet with a fatal "remodeling" accident.
BONUS: THANKS FOR THE MAMMARIES
Yesterday the world lost Hugh Hefner, age 91, the creator of Playboy magazine, the Playboy philosophy, the Playboy mansion, and Most Valuable Player in the kickoff of the sexual revolution.
Playboy was a significant influence on many a young man back in its heyday, because it really was about more than just the nudie pictures - although what pictures they were! Modestly posed (by today's standards) with natural bodies of all shapes and sizes appealingly free of surgical enhancement.
It was only in later years, facing competition from raunchier fare like Penthouse and Hustler, that Playboy's photos turned more to (as Archie Bunker once said) the "groinecological."
But apart from the Playmates, any given issue of Playboy (and we're recalling back to the 70's here) had much else to offer. Yes, the interviews and articles really were top notch and not just filler. And for those of us who were into cartoons, Playboy was a little slice of heaven. The creepy stylings of Gahan Wilson, the exquisite line work of Shel Silverstein, Sokol, Rodriguez, and many more. And the delightful Mad-ness (pun fully intended) of "Little Annie Fanny" by Harvey Kurtzman and Will Elder.
We haven't looked at a current issue of Playboy in decades, but our fond memories linger on. And so we feel the loss of Hugh Hefner with genuine sadness as another little piece of a more innocent past flickers out.
Coincidentally, the day Hef died was also the day we finally threw out our waterbed. It will soon be replaced by something less hedonistic and more geriatric-friendly. Further proof that Time is a harsh mistress who doesn't have a staple in her belly button.
Posted by Stilton Jarlsberg at 12:01 AM 27 comments:
Wednesday, September 27, 2017
While it's unlikely that the Dallas Cowboys will be winning titles anytime soon, on Monday night they did succeed in rebranding themselves as the new Rockettes of Virtue Signaling by having the entire team, including owner Jerry Jones, come out and kneel on the field just before the playing of the national anthem.
They seemed to assume that as long as the anthem isn't playing, it's a perfectly good time for an entire franchise to shove their politics in fans faces while simultaneously declaring their hatred of the police (five of whom were brutally murdered in Dallas while protecting the rights of anti-police protesters) and their sneering disdain for what they perceive to be an unpleasantly patriotic President of the United States.
Jones claimed that the social justice curtsy was performed as a show of unity and solidarity - but unity with who and solidarity with what cause? No one seems to be quite sure at this point...but it's not really even important in an environment which now sees virtue signaling as more important than virtue itself.
And let's not forget how all of this nonsense started...
Following the death of Michael "Gentle Giant" Brown in Ferguson, the narrative was that this big, lovable lug was just ambling down the street when a foam-flecked racist white cop decided to execute him, perhaps with the intent of making a rug.
The actual facts showed that Brown had just committed a strong arm robbery and physical assault, then attacked the police officer and tried to grab his gun before attaining glorious martyrdom face down on the sizzling pavement.
The police officer was subsequently cleared of any wrongdoing (including by federal investigators who were doing their damnedest to find anything), but virtue signalers in politics, news, and entertainment kept doing the "hands up" boogie anyway, as surely as they're now taking the knee in furtherance of a lie that too many people - including the dimwitted Colin Kaepernick - still believe to be true.
Not that it's surprising: after all, Barack Obama DID stand in the well of the United Nations and declare that this incident alone made our nation the moral equivalent of the worst human rights offenders on Earth.
In actual fact, this whole stupid Kabuki act has far more to do with the lingering poison of social arsonist Barack Obama and the usual strident race-baiters than anything Donald Trump has done or said.
The good news is that in our low-attention span society, this will probably all pass within a week. The bad news is that something even dumber is likely to replace it.
BONUS: LEAST SURPRISING NEWS OF THE DAY
A new study (as if we didn't already have enough old studies) suggests that psychopaths prefer rap music to classical, which would tempt us to say "Duh!" if we weren't reticent about honking off psychopaths.
This information could be useful in case you're planning a party with an abundance of psychopaths on the list (say, a Democratic fundraiser) and are trying to decide whether your playlist should lean more heavily on "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik," or whatever popular wham-bam, kill the cops, f*ck the hoes, brain-damaged monosyllabic tribal chant is currently thudding out of oversized (and quite likely stolen) car speakers.
Posted by Stilton Jarlsberg at 12:01 AM 36 comments:
Monday, September 25, 2017
The Nuts Who Say Knee
Donald Trump, in typical understated fashion, helped ramp things up by opining that any "son of a bitch" that takes the knee during the anthem should immediately be fired or suspended for showing disrespect to America. In rebuttal, more athletes started dropping to their knees (or linking arms), including both teams at an NFL exhibition game in London's Wembley Stadium ("Wembley," for those who don't know, is the british name for American football).
That game, between the Jaguars and Ravens, was a 44-7 blowout...demonstrating that at least one team should be more ashamed of its athletic ability than its country.
It's hard for us to get very worked up about all of this, as the political opinions of any entertainers don't concern us much - let alone entertainers who make their livings by absorbing repeated blows to the head.
Still, if it will restore peace and harmony to the NFL, we'd like to suggest a modest proposal: in predominantly black neighborhoods, replace the police with "special teams" units of football players wearing standard helmets and padding (no kevlar allowed) who will humanely subdue possibly-armed suspects by implementing an explosive blindside tackle, after which they can do a happy little ass-shaking dance while judges review tapes of the play.
And who knows - maybe one day, we'll see the whole thing come to Wembley Stadium when the "Thin Blue Linebackers" take on the "Pistol Packin' Perps." It would have to be a more entertaining game than the overpaid prima donnas of the Jaguars and Ravens put on last Sunday.
AND ON ANOTHER PLAYING FIELD...
|Because Pre-Apocalyptic humor is the funniest kind.|
Posted by Stilton Jarlsberg at 12:01 AM 36 comments:
Friday, September 22, 2017
|Hey, it was worth a shot.|
We looked for a news story to comment on today, but it seems all the most interesting stuff is somewhat past its prime at this juncture: the Manafort wiretapping, Trump's great U.N. speech, and Hillary's preposterous self-identification as Paul Revere. All are still great stories, but all have already been fully commented on elsewhere.
Hopefully, this will be our last "placeholder" post before getting back to our regular tomfoolery on Monday - and we have no doubt whatsoever that the news will provide plenty of new grist for our mill by then. And trust us, "grist" is the nicest word we can use.
Have a great (and healthy!) weekend, and best wishes to all our Jewish friends for Rosh Hashanah!
|All we need now is something for our lingering cough...|
Posted by Stilton Jarlsberg at 12:01 AM 22 comments:
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
In Sickness And In...No, Just Sickness
Oh, it is SO not happening today. We're still sick, and our home is still jammed with contractors trying to outdo one another in the making outrageous noises competition.
At this very moment, our head is pounding and we actually feel faint - making it a less than perfect time to really savor the ongoing duet by a circular saw and nail gun. And what's better for a queasy tummy and rattling phlegm-filled lungs than a fresh round of toxic paint fumes?
On top of everything else, we had to take time off from wishing for a speedy death to deal with the fact that a coffin-sized box which has been getting moved all over our house for the last 6 weeks turned out to contain the wrong friggin' bathtub.
We'll be back ASAP. Until then, carry on!
Posted by Stilton Jarlsberg at 12:01 AM 23 comments:
Monday, September 18, 2017
One of the happiest political stories of the past week involved 11-year old Frank Giaccio, who wrote to President Trump asking if he could mow the White House lawn to promote his self-created business and was awarded the job.
"That's the real future of the country right there," beamed Mr. Trump as he pointed at the young entrepreneur. "Maybe he'll be President someday!"
When questioned whether he'd also asked Hillary Clinton if he could mow her grass, young Frank replied "No, but I did offer to shovel her snow."
"But there is no snow," said Hillary.
"Lady," laughed Frank, "there'll be snow in Hell before you're in the White House!"
(Editorial note: we may have made up the part about Hillary)
We're a little light on substance at Stilton's Place today (despite plenty of things going on) owing to being impressively, disgustingly ill. Mrs Jarlsberg got the ball rolling with sore throat, sneezes and coughs, and we hoped beyond hope for 24 hours that it would prove to be just allergies (have we mentioned our home is really dusty lately? We have? Never mind).
But nooOOooo, a happy little invading army of germs has swept through the Jarlsberg home and taken no prisoners. Even our freaking teeth hurt, and it's getting increasingly hard to find walls which aren't freshly painted upon which to cough blood-flecked phlegm.
We'll be right as rain soon, but in the meanwhile you may want to wash your hands if you actually touched your keyboard while reading this. Better safe than sorry.
Posted by Stilton Jarlsberg at 12:01 AM 28 comments:
Friday, September 15, 2017
During an interview pushing her bitter, brain-damaged memoir "What Happened," (soon to be followed by the sequel "Where Am I?") Hillary Clinton was asked about her practice of yoga.
Surprisingly, she was able to recall some details despite having erased some 33,000 "personal" emails on the subject (along with other "personal" email like details of her mother's funeral, Chelsea's wedding, family recipes, multiple refusals of additional security to Ambassador Stevens in Benghazi and, of course, her highly personal sale of America's uranium reserves to Russia).
Part of her yoga routine consists of "alternate nostril breathing," which involves closing one nostril with a finger and then breathing deeply through the other. This is then repeated until she reaches an oxygen-deprived state in which she can temporarily forget that she is officially The Biggest Loser In History.
The alternate nostril technique does not, however, work for her husband Bill - who famously does not inhale, but is no stranger to blowing.
SPEAKING OF ALTERNATES
The cartoon above wasn't our first version, but we considered it the funniest version. Still, the joke may be a bit vague for those who have clean minds or who have mercifully forgotten Huma Abedin. For you, we present the alternate version of the cartoon, which you should read while holding one of your nostrils shut.
|"Code name: Chardonnay."|
Posted by Stilton Jarlsberg at 12:01 AM 27 comments:
Wednesday, September 13, 2017
Trials and Trivializations
"It appears your house was built over a haunted crematorium..."
The remodeling slog goes on, and we apologize for writing about it yet again - but we no longer have the wits to talk about much else. So here are some random observations:
• Despite the many distractions around the house, we successfully crossed an important item off our lifetime bucket list today: "buy $200 worth of aged bronze doorknobs in one transaction." Looks like "Swim with dolphins" will just have to wait for another year.
• Because we're redoing the entire house, everything - and we mean everything - has to keep moving nomadically from room to room to stay ahead of the tile guys, the painters, and anyone else who wants to wander through our house without making eye contact. Most of our waking hours are being spent moving things, time and again, from where they don't belong to where they will never be found again. Sure, it seems unproductive, but the wrenching back pain at the end of the day makes it all worthwhile.
• Riddle: How many electricians does it take to change a lightbulb? Surprisingly, the answer is no longer "zero" if you replace your old canister lights with the new self-contained, totally-sealed LED ones which cost $25 each and can't be changed by the consumer. Somehow, we suspect Obama is to blame.
• It's exceedingly hard to be witty while someone is vigorously sanding your office door, mere feet away, at this very freaking moment. We feel like a morsel of food desperately hiding from a relentless toothbrush.
• When you only have one real spoon available for all your meals for days at a time, it's funny to discover that your wife has been using the same spoon to mix the wet dog food with the dry stuff. Bone appetit! (And yes, the "bone" joke was intentional).
• You can learn interesting things about your home helpers based on the litter they leave behind! For instance, someone in the crew is taking a thick green liquid medicine to help clear up his attacks of diarrhea (perhaps we didn't need a new bathroom vent fan after all). Quite possibly the same fellow who ate a banana and then tossed the peel on a windowsill just before a metric buttload of furniture was moved to block it from reach. The withered, blackened peel is now spontaneously generating its own cloud of banana gnats.
Which we forgive only because "banana gnats" is sort of fun to say.
• When we stumble (literally and frequently) through our home in the dark, we're sorry we ever laughed at any joke which involved Helen Keller and moving the furniture.
|And he was never seen again...|
Posted by Stilton Jarlsberg at 12:01 AM 25 comments:
Monday, September 11, 2017
Or at least we didn't until daughter Jarlsberg sent us this cartoon this morning...
Posted by Stilton Jarlsberg at 12:01 AM 19 comments:
Friday, September 8, 2017
No Post Today
All is fine, but we've just been informed by people wielding power tools that we can no longer maintain a computer presence while standing at the bathroom vanity anymore, as a new round of work is to be performed in here (actual work, not just the usual excretions, ablutions, and general bacchanalia with Mr. Bubble).
So we've got to unplug everything and try to find some small piece of level ground elsewhere in the house to set up shop.
Sorry - we'll try to be here on Monday with fresh material! Have a great weekend - and a SAFE one if you're in Irma's path. -Stilton
YOU BE THE JUDGE: Remodeling Progress or Last Line of Anti-Zombie Defense?!
Posted by Stilton Jarlsberg at 12:01 AM 26 comments:
Wednesday, September 6, 2017
Fee Fi Ho Hum
We're going the Earwigs route today because after a quick morning game of "you have a half hour to pick all the new paint colors for your house because the painters are here," we felt like we owed ourselves a little something special at lunch. Specifically, a surprisingly potent margarita at our local Mexican restaurant which put us into a blissful coma for about two hours.
It would be funny to say that we woke up painted head to toe in Dhurrie Beige with accents of Navajo White, but the reality is that we just snored CPAP-free in a La-Z-Boy until a chirpy saleswoman called to share the redemptive gospel of AARP insurance supplement plans.
So, we're blowing off the news yet again - although in complete seriousness, we want to put out positive thoughts for all those who may be in the path of hurricane Irma. We're not suddenly getting into the climate change business, but two such powerful hurricanes in a short space of time does give a body pause (as Larry Talbot once said under a full moon).
And yes, that's both a terrible and terribly obscure joke. Did we mention that it was a really strong margarita?
Posted by Stilton Jarlsberg at 12:01 AM 24 comments:
Monday, September 4, 2017
As The World Burns
|There's never an asteroid strike when you really need one.|
By the way, the bottom right corner of the picture shows you where I'm standing right now: my computer is atop the new bathroom vanity, the keyboard (having no room) is to the right, and the mouse is down another level next to Mrs. J's sink. It ain't pretty, folks.
We're actually a little too burned out to give you much today, but there ARE a couple of things we wanted to at least mention because they're pretty darned important.
Right up there at the top of the list: Kim Jung Un apparently having a hydrogen bomb that he can launch on an ICBM. This would officially be the point at which the joke is no longer funny. If he can get off an EMP attack, we're done. Kaput. Finished. A threat which was well known throughout Obama's entire time in office, yet received no "shovel ready" funds for hardening our electrical grid. I can't remember the exact figures for protecting our entire system, but I think it's probably less than that jerk gave to Acorn or the car companies.
He could have affordably protected our country while boosting employment, but didn't - because both of these were things he didn't want.
We don't know what Trump is going to do about this situation, but it's serious enough that NO option should be off the table. And that should scare all of us.
The other bone we have to pick (see how we returned to that caveman imagery?) regards one particular aspect of the news coverage we've been seeing about the ongoing search, rescue, and rebuilding efforts going on in our great home state of Texas following hurricane Harvey.
We keep hearing that in a country torn by hate and strife, it's semi-miraculous to see people coming together, putting aside race and ideology, and working together in a spirit of community.
Well screw that.
Not the good works - which are myriad, heartwarming, and inspiring. But screw the idea that some sort of "change" has happened, and this wasn't how Texans were before the crisis. Here's a freaking news bulletin: Texas is filled, by and large, with good, Godly people who were already getting along just fine - and take it as a cultural norm that we reach out to help when others, any others, are in need.
You can see it in the rate we donate to charities, volunteer for community services, and enlist for military duty. There has been no change of heart for Texans because we didn't need one.
The people making these rescues, serving up meals, and providing shelter aren't magically reformed members of Antifa, Black Lives Matter, the KKK, or Neo-Nazis...none of whom are actually welcome in this great state. They're all still chasing their selfish agendas of hate, and the mainstream media is spinning this narrative of "coming together in a crisis" rather than admitting that it is THEY who have been lying to us all along about the degree of enmity and social unrest in our society, hoping to increase those very things.
Okay, we've said our piece. Now we're going to push our way out of the dusty rubble in our home to get a takeout order of cheap Chinese food.
That, and a smooch from the woman we love, is our special reward for turning 65 today.
Posted by Stilton Jarlsberg at 12:01 AM 66 comments:
Friday, September 1, 2017
We'll Be Right Back. We Hope.
Okay, we knew the remodelers were eventually coming for our last holdout, but it's happening NOW. So we're unable to post anything today, and may be offline for a week or two (hopefully not, we're just hedging our bets here).
As we write this, the air is filled with fresh toxic fumes (we're having the dining room "orange peel" texture added, which apparently involves spraying the walls with biotoxins), the sound of power tools, and melodious Mariachi music. Man, we just can't get enough of those jolly little accordions!
We'll try to get back ASAP, and will surely find some way to view comments and maybe even respond.
Until then, happy Labor Day (damn those capitalist slavemongers!) and - just in case things don't go well - happy Halloween!
Posted by Stilton Jarlsberg at 12:01 AM 24 comments:
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