Friday, September 23, 2022

The Molar Report

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, Ladybug, dentist, tooth, extraction, pulled, stand-up, daffodils, Kathy

Last Friday I had to drive Ladybug, our face-eating pitbull, to a dental appointment where she was to have two canine teeth extracted. "Aren't they ALL canine teeth?" I asked in that fun-loving way I have. The veterinary assistant stared at me and assured me that not all of them are canine teeth. Even Ladybug failed to see the humor in my bon mot, preferring to express her opinion by taking a truly massive dump on the linoleum floor. 

She survived the procedure just fine and didn't even hold a grudge very long, no doubt because she had an inkling that hard justice was in the air. Because Monday I went to the human dentist where they popped off a couple of ancient crowns (Mesopotamian, I believe) and drilled extravagantly before deciding that one tooth was pining for the fjords and had to go. At which point I took a massive dump on their linoleum floor.

No, no, I didn't do that - because the dentist preferred that I see a dental surgeon for the actual excavation. And so I found myself in a dental chair yet again on Tuesday looking at a tray full of disturbing, pewter-colored hardware which made me wish with all my heart that I had important state secrets to reveal.

I was asked to sign a few "informed consent" forms which noted that the dental firm was in no way liable if my jaw happened to snap like dry wood when things got violent. But fortunately, that didn't happen. The snapping, that is. Because they sure as Hell got violent in pretty short order.

After about 5 really deep shots of anesthetic, the nice lady dental surgeon fiddle-diddled my lower lip up and down to check if it was numb, then went in guns a-blazin'. I remember large-bore drills, a hammer and chisel, and a lot of unbelievably hard pulling that truly had me wondering about the tensile strength of my jaw bone.  The entire process took about 40 minutes, which even the dentist noted was an unusually long time. 

But now that tooth is gone and, because it was all the way in the back, it's being replaced by nothing at all. So I've got a stitched-up hole back there, prescription painkillers, anti-microbial mouthwash, a "soft foods only" diet for about 5 more days, and a smug pitbull whose every look says "Not so funny now, is it a**hole?"

In other general updates, Daughter J and I keep plugging along, doing our best to heal and reinvent ourselves (spoiler alert: there's a long way to go). I've finally been able to move a nice framed photo of Kathy to my desktop for frequent, loving looks. Until now, it was too painful to do anything but steal a quick glance and then look away. So that's probably a degree of healing in progress. Or so I hope.

Despite wearing an ice bag on my jaw (no, really) I managed to plant daffodil bulbs in Kathy's little memorial garden at the side of our house, so hopefully, we'll be enjoying some Spring blooms from those if the critters don't dig them up and eat them. 

Work on my fun Kathy-related writing project proceeds apace as I continue taking delivery of commissioned artwork, and I'm pretty confident that it's going to end up being a pretty nice final product. And of course, I'll let you know when it debuts and how to get it cheaply and/or free.

Just to have something new and different to try out, beginning Monday I'll be taking an online course in stand-up comedy. And do I want to be a 70-year-old stand-up comic? Well no, not particularly. But it seems like a fun thing to try and will also be a nice social event that I can enjoy without fretting about Covid, monkeypox, or drunken hecklers. Theoretically, I'll have my very own 5-minute stand-up comedy routine in about 10 weeks. Whether or not I inflict it on the world remains to be seen.

And finally, here's something (no longer very timely) that I posted on Facebook...

See you in the comments section!

Friday, September 9, 2022

Strip, Strip, Hooray

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, biden, queen elizabeth, death, pedo, #pedohitler
Just how old IS this guy?!

I'm sorry to see the passing of Queen Elizabeth, although 96 years is a good run for anyone. While "The Royals" have never been of particular interest to me, I have great respect for the Queen's 70+ years of public service. Especially considering that Joe Biden hasn't put in a single day of public service in his entire career. Unless you want to count his spending billions of dollars on the newest (ahem) Covid "vaccines"...

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, eight mice, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, Covid, vaccine, Ivermectin, Fauci, #Pedohitler

That's right - the FDA has approved "emergency use" of a new Covid vaccine formulation that hasn't been tested on a single human being...and only eight mice. This from the same agency that said it was unsafe to even try Ivermectin for Covid because it had only been shown to be safe on millions of humans for decades. 

As a bonus (click the link above for details and data), the new generation of vaccines is unlikely to prevent or even slow infection, transmission, or serious illness. But it will make billions for big pharma (which, entirely coincidentally, provides 75% of the funding for the FDA), make government look like it's doing something/anything, and continue to provide jobs for fewer than a dozen mice.

And is it just me, or are we having a weird national deja vu moment...

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, obamas, portraits, deja vu, barry soetoro

This week the Bidens welcomed The Obamas back to the White House for the unveiling of their official portraits. There was pomp, circumstance, and a strange scraping sound that turned out to be me scratching my bald head while asking "Didn't we do this years ago with completely different portraits?!"

And the answer is yes...yes we did. But apparently, we now have to allow the Obamas to return to the White House every 4 years or so to unveil new paintings of themselves while pretending the previous versions never happened. In much the same way I like to pretend that 8 years of the Obamas never happened.

FROM THE VAULT (Feb 14, 2018)

Oh, you just knew we had to share our take on the preposterous new portraits of Barry and Michelle. And we've got to admit that we're having a grand time watching effete Leftists struggling to explain why these alleged works of art are swoon-worthy.

Barry's is hilariously surreal and lacks only a unicorn to properly depict the self-obsessed fantasy world he lived in. Seriously, it practically screams "this man has no contact with reality."

We do, however, like the fact that the vines are already growing over his legs - giving us hope that he will eventually disappear entirely.

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, obama, air freshener, portrait
Coming soon to a "choom gang" van near you.

Michelle's portrait is just flat out, laughably hideous and deserves a non-traditional display.

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, michelle obama, portrait, refrigerator
Bonus! You can chill your groceries with her cold glare!

Although it wasn't our intent, we actually improved her wretched portrait by adding the colorful crayon illustrations. The actual painting looks like the work of a not-very-talented school kid who still got a C+ for "trying very, very hard."

The portrait is astonishingly amateurish, lifeless, and flat - although we actually agree with the artist's decision to give Michelle's painting no background. After all, what background did we ever get on the woman herself, other than that she had no pride in America until Obama elbowed his way into our national nightmares and, per her laughably self-centered university "thesis," that she just plain doesn't like white folks.

Perhaps it's just the influence of Valentine's Day, but we actually find our hearts warmed by these ghastly portraits...because they're exactly what the subjects deserved.

Friday, August 19, 2022

Two Arms! Two Arms!

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, Kathy, grieving, grief, group hug, Busty Ross, monkeypox
As always, you can click the cartoon for a bigger size!
The Truth in Cartooning Law requires me to disclose that I made this cartoon at a time when I genuinely needed a group hug and didn't have access to one. Although if a group had been here, by the time we'd have finished checking each other for infectious pustules the whole hugging mood would have passed.

Frankly, I've recently had a string of bad days, which is to be expected but isn't much fun. I need to be getting out and about and interacting with human beings, because the only thing that can partially fill the void in my life is More Life...but apparently, you have to go looking for that sort of thing rather than waiting for it to show up (unless the FBI thinks you've got a closet full of allegedly top secret documents). But being a real Olympic-class introvert, it's hard for me to get out there and interact with others. 

One bright spot worth mentioning is that work on my writing project is going well. The project relies heavily on custom artwork and I've found an artist who knows how to draw "funny" and is great to work with. I get a fresh shipment of drawings every few days and they're reliably delightful. So I'm really looking forward to sharing it with you when it's ready.

And just to pad things out, here's a cartoon I put on Facebook recently...

And that's all I've got. I'll meet everyone in the comments section for my much-needed virtual group hug!

Wednesday, August 10, 2022

Complaint Deportment

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, complaints, sciatica, heart, insurrection, FBI

No, the title of today's post wasn't a typo. Rather, I don't really have much of anything to post to prove I'm still alive other than a number of gripes, so deportment demands that I try to do so amusingly. So here goes.

• I'm currently suffering from significant sciatica pain, which is amusing only because it reminds me that WC Fields used the term "suffering sciatica!" in his movie "Never Give A Sucker An Even Break." It feels like an ice pick in my lower back accompanied by painful numbness (something I wouldn't have thought possible) in my left leg, while my left foot feels like it's in freezing ice water. And this is on the same side as my bad hip, so I'm hobbling around like Long John Silver after a long night of drinking Clan MacGrog.

According to the Internet, there are a number of factors that could be responsible including being obese, not getting exercise, and sitting on your butt all day. So it seems like the proper treatment consists of applying heat regularly while simultaneously not being a fat, lazy slob. So I'm definitely going to be using a hot pack.

• Speaking of health, which is pretty much all old people do, I had to wear a heart monitor for a couple of weeks about a month ago and yesterday I was sent a cryptic report which my doctor will interpret for me on Thursday.  Apparently there's dilation in my "sinus of Valsalva," which is definitely a phrase you should imagine spoken in the voice of WC Fields.

I also have "Grade 1 left ventricular diastolic dysfunction" which Google tells me can potentially be fatal, although it also says that about everything from tapioca to hiccups. So I took comfort from another part of the Internet which mentioned that virtually 100% of people over 60 have the condition and neither they nor their doctors find it interesting. Okay!

• I tried to hire a home-cleaning service to help out around here. I'm doing a decent job of tidying, but am less good about cleaning the "infrastructure" as Kathy put it: showers, tubs, floors, countertops, etc. So not knowing how to hire anyone, I did what comes most naturally to me and tried to find a service that was cheap. I found a Groupon deal that would give me four hours of cleaning for about $100, bought it, then tried to schedule the appointment. It did not go well...

"I'm sorry, sir, but the Groupon coupon is only good for general housecleaning, not Deep Cleaning of the sort you're describing."
"What," I asked, "did I mention that pushed us into the realm of Deep Cleaning?"
"You said you wanted your windowsills dusted."

So that's not happening. I may try hiring a different service at some point or not. But for now, I guess I'll have to stop shitting on my windowsills. No, no, only kidding - although I did have an uncle who eventually kept his poop in dresser drawers, presumably because he couldn't afford a safe deposit box.

• In happier news (see, there's that "deportment" thing kicking in again) I actually received the $500 participation prize from the local blood bank and promptly put it in my account. A good friend introduced me to recently and I really like the concept. Using the service, you're able to give $25 micro-loans to people around the world for all kinds of good and interesting reasons. They pay the loan back over the course of six months or a year (with a default rate lower than college students, you can bet) at which point you can take your money out or just lend it again, getting compound Karmic interest.  I can now visit about a dozen countries where people owe me money, and if that doesn't make me a citizen of the world I don't know what would.

• Work continues on my writing project and my Fiverr artist continues to deliver delightful, funny illustrations that I hope to get in front of everyone in the coming months. This particular project helps me in a variety of ways, which will become clear when I'm free to talk about it more.

• Finally, I really DO try to avoid politics these days. But wasn't the FBI raid on Donald Trump's home the threatening kind of blatantly corrupt overreach that, in a purely hypothetical sense, might inspire dictionary-conscious citizens to show Washington DC what insurrection really means?

Monday, August 1, 2022

Slow Go for Co-Joe

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, biden, covid, fuck Fauci, grieving, Kathy, blood, donation, Dalai Lama, Tutu

Okay, the cartoon above isn't that funny since it reminds us that the "vaccines" aren't, and that as miracle drugs go, Paxlovid is about as impressive as a birthday magician pulling a quarter from behind a 5-year-old's ear. Although in fairness, the magician once did that trick in the Oval Office and Joe Biden is still regularly checking his ears for more change.

Mostly, I'm just posting because it's been about a week since I put anything up and I want people to know that Daughter J and I are still chugging along, albeit without a lot of momentum yet. I think I've mentioned that I thought of a minor writing project to distract myself with, right? Well, I have - but the artist I've hired for the job has been out sick lately. Covid? I don't know that it is, but why in Heaven's name wouldn't it be? Anyway, when the project is completed you'll read about it here first - and you'll be able to get your own copy, probably free, at the same time. 

I'm currently drinking huge quantities of water (sans Clan MacGregor) in order to hydrate for a possible blood donation on Monday. I say "possible" because so far I've only been able to produce blood once in four visits.  Seriously, the staff at the blood bank were high-fiving a turnip for giving more blood than me. Oh, I show up all pink, willing, and sloshy but my veins just skedaddle in the presence of needles or petulantly shut down after giving a single drop of blood. Which is frankly hard on me emotionally. I thought my grand purpose in life at this point would be to bleed extravagantly for those who need it and instead my role just seems to be to keep the chair warm for the next donor. But if at first you suck at bleeding, try, try again.

My weight loss program has been an abject failure to date although I haven't seen any increase in weight because I'm not stepping on a scale again except at gunpoint. It turns out that the funny thing about coping behaviors is that you need them to cope. But I'm working on healthier coping. In fact, I just got a book on living joyfully which was co-authored by the Dalai Lama and Desmond Tutu - and I've never seen a picture of either of them scarfing down a big bag of barbecue chips so I figure they have a lot of useful advice for me.

I also now own every conceivable book about Grief and Grieving, which sounds like the title of a really depressing Jane Austen novel. Which isn't the writing project I referred to earlier, but it's definitely going on my idea list.

Friday, July 22, 2022

Kamala Heiress

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, kamala harris, biden, covid, succession, vice president, moron

Will you ever forget where you were and what you were doing the moment you found out that Joe Biden, alleged president of the United States, has Covid? Because I've already forgotten, no doubt because I filed the information in the ever-expanding drawer in my brain that's labeled "Who Gives A Crap."

Although that's not quite accurate with Kamala Harris lurking in the wings, only a heartbeat away from being the most idiotic dunce to ever hold high office. And in making that assessment, I'm including a lot of inbred royals over the centuries whose major accomplishments were developing hemophilia, growing webbed fingers and toes, having single-digit IQs and a thousand-yard stare, and farting in the bathtub and snapping at the bubbles while slapping their hands together and barking like a seal.

But by some madness, we may be only days away from Kamala Harris becoming President of the United States. Which raises the terrifying question of who she would choose as the new Vice President? After all, the Vice President's most important job is to make the actual President look less like a moron by comparison, and Kamala Harris was already on a list of only one who could fulfill that role for Joe "Where Am I?" Biden. So who or what could make Harris look good by comparison?

According to our inside sources, this is the short list of candidates being urgently vetted by Democrats...

And so the nation holds its breath, waiting to see if Joe Biden will recover. Although doctors assure us that there's very little chance of Mr. Biden developing "long" Covid, as he can't possibly be long for this world whatever happens.

Wednesday, July 20, 2022

(Too Much) Food For Thought

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, grief, grieving, Kathy, weight, dieting, coping mechanisms, buffet

A routine visit to the doctor today confirmed what my pants were already telling me; my weight is way out of control. In the four months since I lost Kathy, I've gained 40 pounds. Apparently my metabolism is under the delusion that I can personally build a new Kathy out of 100 pounds of grease, sugar, and other carbohydrates and so far there have been no supply-chain issues to slow down the stockpiling of raw materials. 

As people try to find coping mechanisms for extreme emotional stress, they frequently resort to the kind of vices that can give a quick (albeit fleeting) shot of relief to the brain. Drugs, gambling, alcohol, and sex are all high on the list and have few downsides other than having your teeth rot out, thugs beating the crap out of you in dark alleys, high-speed auto accidents, and contracting monkeypox from a hooker named "Candi" who, somewhat suspiciously, takes payment in bananas.

My personal vice has been food, which is less exciting than those other things but potentially just as deadly if I don't rein things in...and fast. I've been absorbing massive quantities of fried foods, Barbecue chips, entire pumpkin pies with Cool Whip, whole boxes of snack cakes, pints of ice cream, cans of french-fried onions, and so very much more. Not that I only rely on junk food - I also eat healthy things like hot dogs, sausage, tater tots, and pizza which, occasionally, has some flecks of vegetables on top.

And writing just the paragraphs above, I've eaten two large slices of red velvet cake, and have now switched to a bowl of cheese slices and oyster crackers. So I'm overdue to start cleaning up my ways.

According to my therapist, the only way I can actually start dieting again is by finding some other mechanism to relax or distract me during these times of tribulation. Writing seems like an obvious choice, but I've been very hard put to think of anything to write about (as you've likely noticed). 

Happily, I recently had an idea for a silly little writing project which I'm putting into motion. This would be a humorous self-published book (and ebook), copiously illustrated by a guy I found on Fiverr, and probably only about 60 pages long. It will not be a great work of art or literature, but it will be an entertainment that I will sell dirt cheap (and likely give away free as an ebook, at least initially for the folks here). 

I'd say more, but I've learned that it's a bad idea to share too much during the early enthusiastic stage of having a new idea; you use up your creative energy explaining the concept to others, and when they say "meh," it sucks the air out of your muse - who then takes up drugs, gambling, alcohol, and monkey-bumpin'.

But the project is something for me to work on which will hopefully kindle enough distraction and/or creative satisfaction to help me lay off the calories for the next few weeks. And if any of you have great weight loss tips (or hints about simian safe-sex) please leave them in the comments section!

Wednesday, July 13, 2022

It Only Hurts When I Life

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, Kathy, grief, legal, Will, probate

For the record, Daughter J said I shouldn't post the cartoon above because "it makes you look sad." To which I countered, "Yes, but it makes me look sad in a funny way." She still isn't buying it and you might not either, but I ran out of ideas and needed SOME picture to put at the top of the page. 

It's been exactly four months since I lost Kathy and while I keep plugging along, I can't really boast of making progress in leaps and bounds. On my scorecard so far, I've had lunch with a friend once (with outdoor seating), dinner with Kathy's brother and his wife once (indoors and boldly unmasked), and this past week I actually watched a TV program by myself for the first time. So there's not a lot of carpe in my diem

Still, Life, in its eternal wisdom, keeps me hopping with various tasks that need attention. Today, for instance, I had to have an audience with a judge to make a number of sworn statements relating to the disposition of Kathy's Will, which named me as the sole beneficiary and executor. After raising my right hand, I had to answer tough questions like these:

"Are you the person named as executor?"
"I am."
"Are you willing to serve as executor?"
"I am."
"As beneficiary, do you accept this person as your executor?"
"I do."
"As beneficiary, do you wish to waive being provided a complete accounting of all assets held by the executor who is also you?"
"I do."
"Do you, whichever person you're being, swear you're telling the truth?"
"We do."
"I now pronounce you beneficiary and executor. You may kiss your lawyer's fee goodbye."

So that's been handled and will facilitate the generating of more legal paperwork which will be required to do things like changing names on titles and bank accounts. Because that's such a satisfying and uplifting use of my time and energy. 

I've also noticed weird seepage coming out from under the toilet in the master bathroom and have decided that it's likely a bad wax ring where the biffy connects to the plumbing. Fortunately, replacement wax rings are only about five or ten bucks, meaning I should be able to get the toilet fixed for about $375 (plus about five to ten bucks) because I'M damn well not going to do it, no matter how easy Youtube thinks the job is.

Of a slightly more satisfying nature, I'm also doing daily bucket brigade duty to try to keep our various plants alive while North Texas bakes in 104° heat and weeks without a trace of rain. And trust me, "alive" is the low bar I'm setting for most of the plants just now, all of which are wilting, turning brown, and giving me dirty looks for not letting them come inside my air-conditioned house. Then again, that may have been the crew who mow my lawn - it's not like I'm going to stand out in that heat long enough to be sure.

Friday, July 1, 2022

Make Him An Offer He CAN Refuse

 So today I got an unsolicited snail-mail letter from a realtor that went like this...

I understand you are the Personal Representative for the property at (my address). I specialize in the area of probate and helping administrators and executors like yourself with the sale of any real estate properties that the estate has to liquidate. I would like to meet with you, if possible, to look at the property and explain how I can help you in this process. Selling your property does not have to be a difficult process. I have been helping many people like yourself sell and get TOP DOLLAR. 

It would, of course, be rude if I didn't respond. So here's what I sent back...

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, realtor, Kathy, death, ghoul, vulture, piece of shit, real estate, truck, deaths, Mexicans

By the way, on her letterhead, she mentions being a graduate of Southern Methodist University. I'm no theological expert, but if Methodists are being taught to pick the bones of their neighbors then that frigging university needs an exorcism or something.


The piece above isn't to mock or laugh at the poor bastards who didn't know they were climbing into an air fryer at Joe Biden's invitation. Rather, it's just a comment on the deaths and suffering that will inevitably happen when this administration throws open the border and promises valuable gifts and prizes to anyone willing to risk their lives (as well as risking rape and violence) on a dangerous and illegal journey.

This blood is on the Biden administration's hands.


Editorial Note: I still think it's okay to ship realtors across Texas in trucks.

Monday, June 27, 2022

Hey, Good Lookin'

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, earwigs, o caption

When I was young and the Earth was still a cooling ball of gas, the height of practical joking (or just being a pain in the rear end) was to put a burning bag of dog poop on someone's doorstep, ring the doorbell, then run like Hell. They open the door, see the flame, stomp it out, and get dog doo on their shoe. Classic!

Anyway, that's more or less what today's post is. I don't really have anything interesting to share so I've dropped this cartoon on your doorstep, rung your doorbell, and - because I'm too old and fat to run like Hell - I'm hiding in your bushes.

See you in the comments section as soon as I get this dog doo off my shoe...

Monday, June 20, 2022

White House Strokesperson

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, monkeypox, masturbation, white house spokesperson, doocy, Biden, bike
Another safety tip: don't dress like a banana

The CDC (one of whose "C's" must stand for "Comedy") has issued guidelines to cut down the spread of monkeypox. Specifically, they're telling Americans to keep their clothes on during sex and to masturbate while staying six feet apart. Which, frankly, is going to work wonders for social distancing in the grocery store checkout line even if causes an uptick in "wet cleanup on aisle 9" calls.

The CDC also recommends that potential monkeypox spreaders wash their "sex toys and fetish gear" because God has fallen way behind in turning people into pillars of salt and destroying their cities with sulfur, fire, and (just to be sure) a squirt of Purell.

Wednesday, June 15, 2022

If It Stays Up Longer Than Four Hours...

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, garage door, bees
I'm putting my money where that mouth is.

It’s 10:15 pm on Tuesday night and I’m only just now starting to calm down from an extended battle with my garage door. And in the big scheme of things, a garage door shouldn’t be crazy-making but my reserves of internal strength ain't what they used to be.

The garage door worked fine earlier when I’d been out running some errands. And it worked fine in the late afternoon when I rolled our trash to the alley. Then I saw someone’s Facebook post about putting out saucers with stones and water for thirsty bees fighting the Texas heat (they won't lap up water from a bowl, but they like to collect moisture from a solid surface) and that struck me as a nice thing to do for our hard-working pollinators. 

So I got a plastic saucer (the kind that goes under clay gardening pots outside) then opened the garage door to go fetch some small rocks. Upon returning to the house with my delicious plate of stones, the garage door would only go down a foot or so before stalling then creeping back upward. 

Repeat repeat repeat. 

When that didn’t work, I detached the chain drive and tried to lower the door by hand. No success. I tried multiple times, but it was useless - and increasingly killing in the 100 degree heat. Great - my garage door would be open all night for the thieves to enjoy pillaging.

SOooo I started calling emergency garage door repair places and no one could/would help me until tomorrow (I don't think they understand that whole "emergency" thing) causing my panic level to continue rising. Finally, someone said they’d come out in an hour. 

So rather than sit in my blistering hot garage guarding my stuff, I decided to put a security camera in there. Only I couldn’t find the damn cam and worked myself up further looking for it. Finally, I found it exactly where it shouldn't have been and plugged it in...but it wouldn’t connect to the Internet from the garage. So I moved a repeater/router to different locations around my house until a tenuous connection was made. 

I then decided I should move the cars to give the repairman room to work. There was no problem with my car, but the battery in Kathy’s car was stone dead after not being driven in six months. So in the hot garage, I popped the hood and attached a trickle charger to the battery which, by tomorrow, will either have charged the battery or set the car and house on fire.

The repair guy finally arrived and he was a very nice fellow with a thick Jamaican accent making communication nearly impossible. He showed me places where the metal of the door had crumpled and cracked and said that he could do a temporary fix, but I’d need to replace the door soon. 

But it turned out he COULDN’T fix the door. So he at least helped me close it and, remarkably, only charged me $29 for his services. He’s also sending me an estimate on a replacement door. Although mine was a low-end garage door, replacing it these days would be about $2600 although I can get a crappier one for about $1800. So much for the $1200 I'm saving by cutting my cable TV.

Hoping to find a better deal, I checked out the “Nextdoor Neighbor” website to see who people recommend. One vendor, in particular, seemed popular, so I went to their website and requested a free estimate on a new garage door. The models they offer come with a limited lifetime warranty, which seems ideal for a guy with an increasingly limited lifetime.

But there was something in the back of my mind…the company’s name sounded familiar. Was it possible that they’d installed the broken door some eons ago? 

I knew what I had to do, though it wasn’t easy; one of Kathy’s many virtues was wonderful organization. So I went to her file drawers and started leafing through folders all neatly labeled in her precise handwriting. Nothing under “Outdoor Warranties” or “Misc Warranties" but “Home Improvement” was a winner! There was an aging receipt from the company, dated September 11, 1998, for the installation of the garage door, and it was stapled to a sales sheet showing that the garage door came with a limited lifetime warranty!

Of course, I assume that they’ll balk at honoring the warranty, but that will be a fight for another day. Specifically, Wednesday.

And if the company gives me a hard time, I hope their installers get stung by the bees who are gathered around their nice, new, surprisingly-expensive watering hole.


My garage door drama is in the process of wrapping up exactly the way you would expect: with me bleeding money.

My "limited lifetime" warranty isn't compensating me diddly-squat because it states that it's voided if any other company works on the door. Which the Jamaican guy did last night. D'oh!!! But what the heck. I mean, how much can it cost to replace a garage door? 

$3300, it turns out. Oh, the door itself isn't quite that high, but it requires new rails and a new spring. And although my garage door opener works fine, it's 30 years old and might NOT work with the new door since the techs have no idea how to adjust such a dinosaur and, oh yeah, if my old opener damages the new garage door or spring then it voids the warranty.

The new opener adds over $800 to the whole shebang, but it comes with alleged bells and whistles like photoelectric sensors to prevent cutting toddlers in half ("It's the law"), and a built-in security camera that will connect with my cell phone so I can easily see if my garage has mysteriously become infested with toddlers.

By the way, the tech was a nice young fellow with no sense of humor whatsoever. A case in point:

TECH: If you're in Chicago, you can use your smartphone to see if the door is closed.

ME: Wow, Chicago seems like a long way to go just to check on my garage door.

TECH: You don't have to go to Chicago, sir, that was just an example.

Before anyone busts a gusset (and don't even start me on the poor quality of modern gussets), I know that I'm overpaying and I could probably save considerable money if I shopped around, haggled, threatened legal action, or rolled the dice on mixing old and new parts.

But I just want this done. My ability to cope with this kind of aggravating crap is at an all-time low and sometimes money is cheaper than spending life essence. Moreover, there's a real value to just getting problems solved quickly so I can get back to the important business of day-drinking. (Kidding, mostly)

Monday, June 13, 2022

Green and Bear It

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, Kathy, garden, backyard, flowers, Pride Month, LGBTQ+, cord-cutting, TV, TIVO, grieving, Trixie Mattel
Click on the picture to see a larger version!

Although the honor was not sought, three months ago I received a field promotion (literally) to Head Gardener at the Jarlsberg Estate. This is a task for which I was entirely unprepared, although I'd done grunt work in the gardens for years under expert supervision.

I've been doing my best to tend to everything and I've been surprised and delighted at the number of bushes, grasses, and flowers that have bloomed and blossomed because Kathy knew to plant things that rather magically come back year after year even if an idiot is left in charge. 

Mind you, I don't know the names of almost any of these colorful visitors but bit by bit I'm learning about them. And while I've never been an enthusiastic gardener, I've always appreciated Kathy's landscaping...and darned if I'm not getting a bit of satisfaction (and sunlight and exercise) by trying to keep everything from going to hell.

So far, so good - and it cheers me every time I look out on all of these colors.


Speaking of colors, we've all been seeing a lot of rainbows in popular media lately in honor of Pride Month. And hopefully to no one's surprise here, I'm fully supportive of the occasion and the folks this month is all about. As the cliche goes, some of my best friends (and best readers) are members of the LGBTQ+ community, and almost all of them have walked a hard road to get to where we are today.

To be clear, I'm not celebrating drag queens in kids' classrooms (although I'm a fan of drag queen / country music artist Trixie Mattel, who says his/her performances are only for the over-18 crowd) nor do I support making a public spectacle of private sexual behavior no matter what team you're playing for. 

But I'm pushing 70 and just lost the love of my life. And I think true commitment to another person, body and soul, is a rare and beautiful thing. So I just want everybody to be who they are, to love who they want, and to treat others with caring and respect. That's something anyone can be proud of during Pride Month.


This week (Wednesday to be exact) sees another big change coming to the Jarlsberg household: I'm cutting the cable. Despite having NO premium channels, my most recent bill came in at $192 (and adding insult to injury, the provider is adding another $2.99/month charge to send your bill on paper).

I'm done watching network or cable news from anyone (I get my news from the Wall Street Journal and the Scott Adams podcast) and I haven't watched a network entertainment show in years. Kathy and I greatly enjoyed "Jeopardy!" because we turned it into a drinking game and exercise in improv comedy, but it would be sad just to watch by myself.

Mind you, I'm not going cold turkey on television - I've got subscriptions to Amazon Prime and Netflix, I've discovered that I get the various networks (and more) live and in high-def using a small indoor TV antenna, and while playing around with my "smart" LG television last night I discovered something called "LG channels" which supplies 179 streaming channels for free (albeit with commercials, like broadcast TV).

My new service package will keep my landline phone (yes, I'm the last holdout), increase my Internet speed by a factor of five, and save me about $120 a month. And if I'm unable to TIVO Democrat kangaroo court proceedings, well, I'll just have to live with it.

Wednesday, June 1, 2022

Word of the Daze

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, Kathy, grief, hollow, clipart

The cartoon above is funny because it's true, although there's just as great a likelihood that it's not funny because it's true.

All my days are difficult lately, but today was particularly hard. So while I wanted to do a post just to show that I'm still around, I couldn't come up with anything except gloom to share. So I went to a favorite clipart site to find a suitably depressing image and entered the word "hollow," expecting to find images of sad people with no more innards than a milk chocolate Easter bunny.

Instead, I got the image you see on the computer screen which would be more appropriate for a children's book called "A Funny, Sunny Day in Happy Hollow."

And it made me laugh at myself for being self-indulgent and self-pitying. So I decided that sharing the whole silly affair with you would be the most honest and accurate snapshot I can give you of how I'm doing.

And speaking of truth in cartooning...

This was Monday's "Johnny Optimism" cartoon and it was vaguely based on reality. Daughter J is now staying at her nearby apartment more frequently while moving in, and upon arriving with More Stuff on Sunday she discovered an abandoned parakeet in a feces-flecked birdcage sitting under an outdoor staircase.

This being Texas, that's a pretty effective way of making broiled parakeet - so she rescued the bird and took it to her apartment (after checking a variety of nearby doors to make sure no one belonged to the bird). 

Our guess was that a family was moving and had forgotten the bird ("Well I thought he was in your car!") and would be getting in touch with the apartment management. Only the office was closed and wouldn't be open again until Tuesday. So I had to gallop off to Walmart and buy parakeet food, while Daughter J placed an emergency order to Amazon to get a variety of birdy treats and toys ("It will help us build trust," she explained). 

That night, she discovered that her entire apartment was filling with the smell of moldy bird poo and asked if it could be kept in my house instead. I did not find the argument compelling and said "no." But first thing Monday morning, I headed out to a pet store to buy a replacement cage just so Daughter J wouldn't have to deal with stink while doing a good deed.

But before the bird could rent a little U-Haul and make the move, the owners (who had found a note left on their door) turned up full of apologies and promising to take better care of the bird. They were indeed in the process of moving and had put the bird outside while moving things around. And no, that didn't make sense to us either, but the people seemed decent enough so we gave them the bird, so to speak. And there were kids involved who were glad to see their chirpy little charge again.

So when it was time to put together a Johnny cartoon, I had birds on the brain. And while this particular parakeet didn't know the words and choreography of "YMCA," had it stayed in our family long enough we would have taught it.

Monday, May 23, 2022

Rhesus Pieces

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, monkeypox, fauci, masks

REPORTER: Why is this outbreak happening now?

FAUCI: It's as close to November as we were able to time it.

REPORTER: Will we be seeing a lot more feces-flinging?

FAUCI: No, just the usual amount for an election year.

REPORTER: Can Monkeypox be transmitted by air?

FAUCI: We don't know yet, but if you hear a fart and smell bananas you should run.

REPORTER: What are the early signs of Monkeypox?

FAUCI: You get "Last Train to Clarksville" stuck in your head.

REPORTER: Why is a third-world disease breaking out in America?

FAUCI: Putin.


FAUCI: Yeah, Putin your d*ck where it doesn't belong. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!!!

REPORTER: It's good to see you still have your puckish sense of humor, Doctor.

FAUCI: Well, the shots help.

REPORTER: There's a vaccine?!

FAUCI: There's tequila.

Friday, May 13, 2022

Your Rant Is Due

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, stilton's luck, Kathy, mourning, grief, bitching, moaning, whiner

Happy Friday the 13th! I won't even try to pretend that today's post is about anything other than me whining, bitching, and moaning. For nearly the past half-century, Kathy was the one to listen to my woes and pat my hand, saying "there, there." Which weren't words of comfort so much as her indicating where her wine glass was, so I could fetch it for her (filled to the top) before I started kvetching.

But she's not here, so you've been drafted. I'll pause if you'd like to get a refreshing beverage first.
(taps foot, examines fingernails, hums "The Girl From Ipanema," wonders whatever happened to fidget-spinners...)
Okay, time's up! Here comes my litany of complaints...

• Today marks exactly two months since we lost Kathy. And it just sucks. The days aren't getting better, they just stack up on my shoulders getting incrementally heavier. I wish I could say that it was otherwise, but it ain't.

• Yesterday was also the anniversary of my mother's death. Which followed Mother's Day, which sucked around here. And both of which followed the Cinco de Mayo, which is the anniversary of my father's death. Yeesh.

• Some of you may have seen in the comments that last Saturday, I very briefly (20 minutes or less) lost sight in a portion of my right eye. Knowing this could be serious, I immediately went to Sam's Club to have their possibly-trained optometrist look in my eye with a surgical-grade flashlight. He said that things looked okay to him, but that I might have had an "ocular migraine" caused by restricted blood flow to the eyeball.

Since that time, I've had a CT scan which didn't show any bleeding, aneurysms, or hemorrhaging that would cause anything, but it did show that my brain has an embedded "arachnoid cyst" which my doctor said that I shouldn't worry about. Which would have been a good place to stop, but he couldn't resist adding "...for now." But seriously, it's probably not a problematic thing. Just a brain cyst that apparently looks like a frigging spider.

The doctor also had me go in for an ultrasound of the arteries in my neck (they're fine), and tomorrow I go in for an EKG. After which I'm having a monitor glued to my chest to record any mischief my heart gets up to for the next two weeks.

• For the reasons cited above, every day this week I've ended up going to the same medical facility that I took Kathy to for five years. As you can imagine, that's not an emotionally neutral thing for me to do.

• Meanwhile in the world of finance, I see that my retirement account has declined over $300k since the start of the year. Granted, I've recently had a very strong reminder that money isn't the most precious thing in our lives...but even so, a loss that big is still kind of a white-hot serrated rectum-reamer (as Milton Friedman used to say after a couple of stiff drinks). 

BUT WAIT, THERE'S GOOD NEWS TOO! (If I can think of any...)

• Kathy liked sweet potato vines in our backyard but I couldn't find any at the garden store so I've been trying to grow my own. And as of this week, we've finally got leaves! I laugh in the face of supply chain issues!

• Thanks to the new Omicron Subvariant BA.2.12.1, it's now official that the government has given up trying to find catchy names for each new iteration of Fauci's China Plague.

• And finally, experts (I use the term both loosely and ironically) are now telling us that smiling is racist. Which is good news because, for a while at least, I can pretty easily manage to keep my smiling under control.

Friday, May 6, 2022

Blank Check-In

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, Kathy, checking in, Scotch

Another week has passed, so it seems like a good idea to poke my head up and give a small status report so you don't think I'm on a bender and living under a bridge somewhere. Mind you, I've got nothing against bridges, but I don't want to share my Nutty Buddy Bars (my drug of choice) with any other derelicts.

The cartoon above really sums things up pretty well, so let me throw some random thoughts down just to pad things out...

• I opened that 30-year-old Scotch and gave it a try. Truthfully, it's okay but didn't send waves of pleasure coursing through my body. It was smoother than Clan MacGregor or my current dreadful plastic jug of "Inver House," but not enough smoother to impress me much. I prefer my "good stuff for cheapskates" Scotch, which is a 12-year old Grangestone aged in a Sherry Cask and sells for about $30 a bottle. Now that stuff is tasty. 

• My decision to avoid the (ahem) "news" was reinforced today when I flipped on the radio on my way to a long-overdue dental appointment. Galloping inflation, stock market nosedive, Roe v. Wade hysteria, Putin threatening to deploy nukes and chemical weapons, mystery liver failures in young kids, and yet another comedian attacked onstage. Hey, world, thanks a lot for the big effort to cheer me up!

• I've finally started working on my taxes (after filing for an extension some weeks ago). So I'm only days away from finding out how much I'm going to have to pay for some liberal nimrod's neglected college loan and useless degree.

• Although I already mentioned it in the comments section, last Friday I was successfully able to give blood and it was the best I'd felt any anything in quite a while. I now have to wait another seven weeks until I can give again, but in the meanwhile, I can encourage others to donate blood. So please, do it! There were times when Kathy was told she could bleed out if she sneezed or clenched her butt. The only remedy was a bag of platelets. The problem was that sometimes there wasn't one available. Donating blood isn't just a good deed, it's a great deed and easy to do. 

• As always, thank you for the continuing support you share with Daughter J and me!

Monday, April 25, 2022

Spelunky Charms

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, Kathy, grief, Scotch, Ukraine, Daughter J

Okay, I'm kidding about that particular book, but I'm still hiding out in a cave rather than interacting with the world yet. Not that it's all bad - Osama bin Laden left a lot of porn in here.

Days continue to pass and I'm hoping that the (too) slow process of healing is happening on some subliminal level even though it doesn't feel like it. And I really am building up a little library of books that purport to help with the process of reinventing your life now that everything, and I mean everything, has changed. Dammit.

One thing the books seem to agree on is that it's important to maintain some sort of contact with other humans. And look - YOU'RE a human and here we are together! It's Kismet! 

And now let me prove that there's nothing much exciting happening around here...

• I continue doing gardening chores for Kathy, even though I don't really enjoy the process yet. I think that maybe I'll learn to, though, once I start getting an idea of what I'm doing. Mind you, I was no stranger to yard work before, but I always operated under expert (and occasionally exasperated) supervision. Still, I've managed to plant four ferns, some ornamental grass, and several pots of petunias. Additionally, I've been watching and watering the new plants and so far they look healthy.

• I still haven't tapped that bottle of 30-year-old Scotch, but intend to one of these days.  Perhaps to toast Daughter J, who is having a birthday in a couple of days. We don't really plan to do anything celebratory because it's going to be a very weird day this year. Still, we'll probably enjoy tasty food from the outside world and probably watch a good horror movie. In times of emotional turmoil, it can be very soothing to watch attractive young people running from maniacs with power tools.

• Speaking of running from maniacs, I've been concerned about a business acquaintance who lives in Ukraine so was greatly relieved to have this message forwarded to me: "Glad to hear from you! You remember that I am from Ukraine! Yes, we have a war that no one expected. Imagine that you live in a developed civilized world, go to cafes, theaters, use Apple, Netflix so on and think that now humanity will begin to explore Mars and suddenly, you are attacked by savages from the last century and they begin to destroy everything with missiles and tanks. So far, it seems to us that we got into the movie "The Man from the High Castle." And you just need to find a portal to return to the usual reality ... Somewhere such feelings. My family and I left Kyiv under bombardment and went to Western Ukraine. The "Russian world" has not reached here yet. I hope it never comes."

• I forget if I mentioned it, but I finally did write up a very negative review of our hospice service and posted it everywhere I could think of. The hospice service replied online that they were sorry I felt dissatisfied and said that they really appreciate feedback to help them provide excellent service and blah, blah, blah. In other words, they blew me off. But that's fine - I had a duty to warn others and now I have.

• My doctor has chosen a "wait and watch" approach to my "in-flight moving" condition, which is fine with me. He also wants to consult with my former neurologist about the highly kinetic Psychoneurological Non-Epileptic Seizures I was having four years ago. Since then, the condition has become much less pronounced but hasn't disappeared completely. Of course, it's not the size of your PNES that matters...

And with that sophomoric attempt at humor, I'm pretty much out of things to say. With the all-important exception that I'm very grateful for the love, laughter, and support you continue to share in the comments section. It means a lot to Daughter J and me!

The Irises Kathy planted are coming up. Purty, ain't they?

Friday, April 15, 2022

In-Flight Moving

stilton’s place, stilton, political, humor, conservative, cartoons, jokes, hope n’ change, mal de disembarquement, Kathy, E15, Biden, Scotch
"This is your captain speaking. We're not actually moving yet."

It's been a while since I've mentioned my "wobbly floors" problem, but it's never gone away. Nor has it changed much; some days it's very minor and other days (like today) it's more annoying. I'll finally be able to consult my doctor about it next week, but I think I've identified my malady by searching the Internet (doctors love it when you do that!).

Unfortunately, the condition has a French name that makes it sound sort of candy-assed: "Mal de Disembarquement Syndrome." According to Google, it's "a rare and poorly understood disorder of the vestibular system that results in a phantom perception of self-motion typically described as rocking, bobbing, or swaying. The symptoms tend to be exacerbated when a patient is not moving, for example when seated or standing still."

As you can guess from the name, this is an affliction usually associated with disembarking from a ship or jet and then still feeling like your body is in motion. It can also happen spontaneously. And it tends to just go away in a couple of hours for most people...except when it doesn't. It's also most common in women, so perhaps I've been a little too confident in my gender self-assessment up until now.

One of the treatments for the condition is to actually put the patient on a jet or ship, after which in some cases the symptoms disappear upon disembarkment. Or, if you land in gay Paree, disembarquement. So maybe Medicare should just put my happy ass in a first-class jet seat to some tropical resort for awhile. Although the way the government spends money, I'll probably end up getting an open-air ride with a crop duster.

In other news...

• It's now been a full month since we lost Kathy. Daughter J and I are doing reasonably well all considered, although the whole surreal situation still sucks and hurts like bejeezus. I've barely made a dent in all the things that need to be done, but I've made a serious dent in our grocery store's junk food aisle. I've fallen into an unfortunate habit of binge-eating and have put on almost 20 pounds. Fortunately, if inflation continues to be a factor I soon won't be able to afford the vast quantity of barbecue chips and Nutty Buddy bars that my psyche is prompting me to gorge on.

• For those of you who haven't read the comments section from my last post, The Mysterious Interview went well last week and it looks like I'll be in the upcoming documentary at least a wee bit. And while it's fun to be vague about the details of the documentary, there are also a couple of pragmatic reasons that I'm not saying much yet. The first is that I signed a non-disclosure agreement. The second is that I don't want the "cancel culture" cultists to associate this blog (and other politically incorrect aspects of my life) with what I was doing 30 years ago. But all can be revealed when the documentary airs in August.

And by the way, the 30-year-old bottle of Scotch didn't even get opened. The documentary crew decided they wanted to do a little more shooting at another location and it didn't seem like a good idea, liability-wise, to be pouring alcohol into them before they hit the road. SOooo, that pricey bottle of Scotch is now a family heirloom or an investment or something. If I ever tap it, I'll certainly give a review here.

• I'm still avoiding the news in general because, and please correct me if I'm wrong, it still sounds incredibly stupid and depressing. I did see that Joe Biden is going to help out America's working class by authorizing the sale of E15 gasoline that will be a dime a gallon cheaper because it's 15% ethanol made from preposterously expensive corn subsidized by our tax dollars. Granted, "gasoline" with that much ethanol will damage most internal combustion engines and cause gaskets and other parts to fail, but there's absolutely no other alternative to bring down gas prices. Well, other than to repeal the Biden policies that have ruined America's energy independence. Or maybe just knock a dime off the damn federal taxes on gasoline. But hey, destroying engines is good too.

• And finally, because we desperately need something colorful to break up all this text, I was recently browsing video projectors on Amazon and had a genuine WTF moment when looking at this ad promising "greater enjoyment" of what's on the screen...

And this, my friends, is why I drink cheap Scotch.

Wednesday, April 6, 2022

A Fool and His Money Are Soon Partied

Today has the makings of being an interesting day. Because today is when the Jarlsberg home will be visited by filmmaking strangers (wearing masks, thank you) to shoot me for that semi-mysterious documentary I've mentioned here a few times. 

By pure chance, today is ALSO the 30th anniversary of an event that is the core of the documentary - an event in which I played a major role. So I told the documentary folks that we could share a toast to the occasion (an old friend once told me "caring means sharing"), and I'll be damned if I'm pouring Inver House, "The Scotch The Clan MacGregor Scrapes Off Its Shoe," for people who've flown hundreds of miles for my convenience (and charming personality and propensity for making libelous remarks).

No, it seemed like a 30-year old Scotch was called for. And let me tell you, friends, Scotch that old gets expensive really fast.  You can pick up a nice bottle of Glenfiddich for $900, a tasty Balvenie for $2000, or a lip-smacking Macallan Fine Oak 30 for a trifling $7,600.

Obviously, I didn't buy any of those things. Rather, I found the cheapest 30-year old Scotch within driving distance and, after watching an assessment on the Youtube "Half-Assed Scotch Review" channel that declared it really tasty, I bought a bottle to share with the documentarians.

At about $200, I guess it's a steal - though it's a bit painful to think about the fact that the same money could have kept me in Clan MacGregor for a year or more. Still, 30th anniversaries only come around so often, and if the cameras happen to be rolling I can look like a big spender.

Which would technically be a big media lie, but hardly the first one.

Wednesday, March 30, 2022

It's Random Wednesday!

Okay, there's really no such thing as "Random Wednesday" but I felt like visiting with you and have only random things to talk about. For instance...

• Will Smith is in the news, which allows me to tell my only Will Smith story. Years ago here in the Dallas area, I was just wrapping up a recording session for the Chuck E. Cheese singing/joking robots and hauling my stuff out of the studio control room when Will Smith and his entourage came in to record some damn thing. And I don't want to say he found me physically intimidating but he sure as hell didn't try to bitch slap me. (Hey, I didn't say it was a great Will Smith story.)

• Several weeks ago, Kathy tasked me with planting some flowers and bulbs in a little garden area we'd recently put in, but I was clueless about where to start (although she was quite specific about what she wanted to be done). I kept asking a neighbor questions and, perhaps because she got sick of my blithering ignorance, a little group of neighbors is coming over on Friday to do all the planting (and provide the necessary plants and supplies) to make a nice little memorial garden that everyone can enjoy seeing when they pass by our house...

Granted, it's a pretty narrow bed (just the area between the windows, which was perhaps more suitable for burying a python) so the neighbors probably won't be adding any life-sized statues of angels blowing trumpets or Wizard of Oz-style columns of fire. I'll have to add those later.

• On an unrelated note, some time ago I mentioned that I might be appearing in an upcoming documentary scheduled for national broadcast later this year. When things turned crazy here, it didn't seem like I'd be able to participate, but now the documentary makers are planning on making a special trip here to interview me in a week or so. 

If I say so myself, I'm one of the world's foremost authorities on the cultural phenomenon the documentary is about. And no, I'm not saying what that is just yet, but I hope you'll eventually be surprised if not flat out flabbergasted. I'm looking forward to finally getting a chance to share my perspective and memories. And also glad that I'll have a strict deadline for cleaning my house and office so I don't look like a complete mental case with a hoarding disorder on national TV.

• I still don't know what the heck I'm going to be blogging about here in the future (it has to be FUNNY, dammit, and suggestions are welcome) but I think I'll officially start posting to Johnny Optimism again starting Monday. Which should come as great news to the 25 people who actually read it.

Friday, March 25, 2022

The Trudge Report

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As you can tell from the cartoon above, I don't really have anything new and worthwhile to share and my wobbling sense of humor seems like it's going to require training wheels for a while. Mostly I cobbled the cartoon together as an excuse to post and say that Daughter J and I are doing okay all considered and taking things one day at a time. 

Little nothing-sized chores are surprisingly tiring; a trip to the grocery store before noon leaves me drained for the rest of the day. Of course, my mood wasn't helped when I then stopped at the liquor store and found that they were out of Clan MacGregor.  I had to buy Inver House, which is even cheaper and nastier scotch than Clan MacG.

Oh sure, there were good and expensive brands of scotch sitting right there on the shelves, but I'm pretty sure that coughing up more money for the same quantity of scotch just adds to inflation - and I love this country too much to be a party to that. 

I'm still not paying attention to the news, though unavoidably see bits and pieces. Like a Supreme Court nominee who can't say what a "woman" is, even though it was part of the criteria that Biden insisted on for his nomination. And of course, I hear hyperbolic stories about a potential nuclear war breaking out at any moment because Putin has gone nuts, but I'm dealing with that by remembering the wise words of the Serenity Prayer:  "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know if a first strike on Moscow would settle Putin's f*cking hash once and for all. Amen."

Yesterday I went to the hearing aid store/audiologist for the first time since Covid hit and it seems that my already poor hearing has further eroded. Even more troubling was the news that, after taking a test using an odd device that would strain the credulity of a freshly-minted Scientologist, I have significant cognitive decline and memory issues caused by my brain trying to compensate for hearing aids that aren't expensive enough.

However, my brain still worked well enough to tell them that I'd stick with my existing hearing aids for now, but the moment I want new ones I'll definitely want to speak to them and the horse they rode in on.

And From The Vault...