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Happy day-after-St. Patrick's Day! Whether you're Irish or not, I hope you enjoyed a fun day, wore green, listened to an Irish jig, and stocked up on potatoes. That's pretty much what I did, because my paternal grandfather was a red-headed musician from County Cork, so it would be blasphemy not to recognize the day somehow.
Mind you, Grandad "Red" isn't listed on my official family tree as his contribution to the family lineage was purely (or impurely) biological. He was hired to give my innocent young grandmother piano lessons but apparently threw in a free organ lesson and then skedaddled when she got pregnant. Grandma quickly and quietly left town until she gave birth and could return. The baby, my father, was put in an orphanage for a few months to avoid scandal then legally adopted by his grandparents. He was raised believing himself to be an adopted orphan and that his mother was his sister, not discovering the deception until in his teens. All of which is my long-winded way of saying I've got plenty of Irish in me. As did Grandma, apparently.
Celebrating with other people would put my hermit status in jeopardy, so instead I decided to honor St. Patrick's Day by creating a new song to bring joy to future generations of green beer drinkers. In it, I tell the surprisingly little-known story of what the heck Saint Patrick did with all of those snakes he's so famous for getting rid of.
I've also created a music video with large, easy-to-read lyrics so that you can sing along joyfully with your family and drunken friends. And maybe your red-headed piano teacher.
Showing renewed energy, vitality, and wildly-dilated pupils, Joe Biden vigorously and youthfully urged the voters of Pennsylvania to go to the polls in November to send him to Congress. He also warned the crowd that January 6th was another Alabama, which is hard - no, impossible - to argue with. Go on, I dare you.
But he's fine, just fine. And we shouldn't really read too much into a slip of the tongue. Surely he meant to say that January 6th was another banana.
Not that Joe did a lot better in his apparently meth-augmented State of the Union speech. Among the highlights, he diminished the brutal murder of Laken Riley by saying that "Lincoln (sic) was an innocent young woman who was killed by an illegal. But how many thousands of people being killed by legals?" Yeah, how many DO be killed? I assume that Biden's ebonics moment was simply a calculated call-out to Black voters. And it's good to know that we can call border-jumping killers "illegals" again.
Joe also declared that in his next term he would, by gum, end cancer as we know it! Frankly, I'd prefer that he just end cancer period - not just "as we know it." He may only have his eye on introducing an exciting New Cancer featuring "metastasis like you've never seen it before!" But we know that Joe is the man for this job because he was given the same job by Obama back in 2016. Joe spearheaded the "Cancer Moonshot" program, the success of which we would all likely remember if there had been any.
Joe also declared that our military was being tasked with building a new, temporary pier in Gaza so we can bring in humanitarian aid by ship because it would be superior to doing it by air. A point he subsequently underscored with an air drop of humanitarian supplies that crushed multiple people waiting on the ground below. Subtle, Joe.
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| Fentanyl? Rape? Murder? |
Parody is dead. For years I've joked that if the Democrats are really concerned about the dangers incurred by people illegally crossing our borders, they should just cut out that long, hazardous pilgrimage and pick up the illegals in their own countries and bring them here in comfort. And we now know that's exactly what's happening.
Biden's laughably-named Customs and Border Protection agency (CBP) has been using chartered planes to pick up unvetted illegal migrants in other countries then flying them directly to the interior of the United States for secret release. Although the new arrivals do have to pinky swear they'll apply for legal status within two years.
Part of Biden's plan was to artificially reduce the number of crossings being reported at the border. And by using our tax money to secretly fly in illegals and give them walking around money, he did lower that number by 320,000 anonymous illegals in 2023. Not that it made much of a dent in the total border crossing numbers - there are still nearly ten times the illegals strolling into the country under Biden than was the case when Trump was President.
But how do the illegals even know about the program and how to use it to receive free criminal airfare? Simple. They use a CBP app on their smartphones that lets them schedule a trip on Air Biden as easily as calling for a ride on Uber.
I'd love to make some kind of pointed joke about all of this, but how can I? This is madness or, likely, something considerably more evil.
Rest In Peace, parody. You were fun while you lasted.
TORCHED SONG
Hopefully, you're not sick of my posting AI songs in this space because I'll probably keep doing it from time to time. It's fun to play with the technology and while working my way through Covid Fatigue I'm not able to do much other than sit on my butt in front of the computer. Mind you, that was largely my lifestyle before, but at least then it was a life choice.
In any case, inspired by my lethargy, I composed the following smoldering, sexy, smoky bit of jazz. A torch song for those already burned...
This past week, I have found myself in the uncomfortable position of having to decide whether I'm a hypocrite or an asshole. And the verdict is that I'm not a hypocrite.
The situation is this: for years I've had a Bucket List somewhat different than that of most people. Visiting Paris? Climbing a pyramid? Swimming with dolphins? Nope. My list consists entirely of people whom I want to see kick the bucket before I do. Being on the list seems to bring no harm to those named, as they tend to cling to life like withered Democrats who refuse to give up office after half-centuries or more of (ahem) "service."
But even the occasional scratch-off Lotto ticket produces a small win from time to time, and several days ago I learned that the person at the top of my Bucket List is not long for this world. Indeed, this person may be room temperature by the time you read this, though I wouldn't expect that condition to last long if you take my drift.
Something I should make clear: I struggle with grief every day and I would never want anyone to suffer. But dropping dead? Well, we all do it eventually, which seems like a waste of effort if no one is made happy.
In this case, the individual is a lawyer who made my life miserable for years. A person who cost me and my family tens of thousands of dollars (and perhaps significantly more) while actively trying to sabotage my career for no discernible reason. This person was also not a very good lawyer and cost their (and my) employer literally millions of dollars in lost court cases.
But as is too often the case, this lawyer continued to fail upward into other positions, some of national prominence and newsworthy incompetence. This person even did a TED talk about the secret of success: "being nice to the little people." A sentiment so far from their actual behavior that I'm amazed a lightning bolt didn't strike then and there.
Still, I'm not a heartless bastard. I have human feelings and strive to find forgiveness for those who have not only trespassed against me but taken a steaming dump while they were on my lawn. Which is why as a peace offering, I wrote the following song to commemorate this sad occasion.
Sorry, that was a typo. I meant sadly delayed occasion.