The Quick and the Dead Tired

This will be an uneven post. Here at stately Jarlsberg mansion, we not only had the tile guys descend on us with a vengeance, we were also surprised to receive visits from a carpenter, two plumbers, and some cabinet guys who took the fronts off all our kitchen cabinets AND the cabinet which held our microwave and oven. And still does - because they're gone too.

Since we don't have a stovetop installed either, we were looking at a future of food as cold as Nancy Pelosi's heart. Fortunately, we were saved by the miracle of capitalism (and Chinese slave labor) thanks to a $35 Sunbeam microwave oven from Target. We may still have to have hot dogs for every meal, but by gosh they'll at least be hot hot dogs!

Also, our contractor moved up the schedule a wee bit in several areas (the element of surprise is critical in keeping homeowners from seeing where the next punch will come from), meaning we have to completely empty the contents of the kitchen this evening (every cupboard, shelf, pantry, and hidey-hole) and then get started emptying out the rooms which are currently stacked to the ceilings with all our belongings. Including this one: the inner sanctum of Stilton's Place.

With all this going on tonight, we had to call the doggy daycare and ask them to let Penny (the official dog of Hope n' Change) spend the night rather than just enjoying her usual daytime play date. We then peeked at the online camera to make sure she was okay, and saw that she was doing nothing except watching the windows and doors for us to come pick her up. Guilt, thy name is stranded dog...

And speaking of dogs, the females are technically referred to as "bitches." Which segues nicely into this cartoon...

Per an idea from our good friends over at The Daily Gouge (who will be using a version of this cartoon today), here's Hillary's version of her debates with Trump as described in her upcoming compendium of lies, "What Happened."

She claims "he was literally breathing down my neck" (he wasn't), her "skin crawled," and she wanted to shout "Back up, you creep! Get away from me!" A line which had previously allowed her to dodge all male advances except, apparently, those made by Webb Hubbell.

Also in the news, the oxymoronic "peace armies" of Antifa raised more Hell in Berkeley to make sure "free speech" couldn't break out...

Hey, YOUR signs lie, OUR signs lie.

The image above should cranch the butthole of anyone who's ever read "1984." Shields emblazoned with "No Hate" and cartoon animals, carried by masked, armed thugs who've come to beat the crap out of anyone they don't agree with (while the police stand back with a nod and a wink to "give them space" to do their genuinely fascist thing).

At some point, a citizen is going to take poorly to being beaten in the streets, and is going to demonstrate to an Antifa member how the 2nd Amendment works. And unfortunately, this is exactly what Antifa and the Left are hoping for: a precious martyr. Frankly, we're surprised that they haven't fragged one of their own yet just to try to pin the blame on the evil Freedom of Speech lovers. And for all we know, that fallen Antifa member might wind up surrounded by 72 virgins - which is ironic because the same was true whenever he attended an average Antifa organizational meeting.

Regarding the Texas coastal cities (and soon Louisiana) coping with hurricane Harvey, we find the carnage heartbreaking but the many acts of heroism and neighborliness inspiring. We'll be making a donation to help as soon as we sort out a good and efficient charity (hint: not The Clinton Foundation), and we hope that the rain will just stop as soon as possible.  Way up here in north Texas, we've only gotten some very scattered showers of no importance.

What else? It seems worth mentioning that by actually shooting a missile over Japan, North Korea's Kim Jung Un is making a desperate plea for "death by cop" (or in this case, the World's cop). And we're growing more inclined to see his wish granted.

Speaking of useless blights on humanity, may we call attention to virtually everyone at the recent MTV Music Awards? Granted, this masturbatory self-celebration is always a pointless waste of time, but we can't really forgive them for the foul song they played to the gala's entire in-theater audience during a commercial break.

Here it is; the meat of the song kicks in at :28 and is Not Safe For Work, Not Safe For White People, Not Safe For Those With Heart Conditions, and frankly Not Safe For Those Uncomfortable with Black People Being Called Niggas (which, theoretically, makes us racists).

As much as we hate to (ahem) denigrate an obviously brain-damaged, Tourette's-afflicted rapper who likely can't wipe his own ass without help from a cellmate, we condemn this song and the overpaid coke-snorting executives at MTV who thought it appropriate to associate with their brand.

Which actual Americans should. Forever.

Pardon is Such Sweet Sorrow

We're frankly enjoying the agonized screams of outrage from the Left over President Trump's pardoning of former sheriff Joe Arpaio for committing blatant, willful acts of law enforcement. The rabid media coverage of this non-event is both terrifying and ludicrous - in other words, entirely predictable.

The Washington Post's piece is headlined "What Authoritarianism Experts Think (of Trump's Pardon)," making us wonder who the hell "authoritarianism experts" even are, and what kind of reportage starts with seeking them out for opinions.

Or consider Slate.com's article "Trump's Pardon of Joe Arpaio Is an Impeachable Offense," which relies rather heavily on the hope that readers will only look at the headline, and not the actual story which rapidly falls apart.

It hilariously starts with this absolutely meaningless generalization: "Donald Trump has done many things that, once fully investigated, may prove to be impeachable offenses. We don't yet know all the facts, so final judgment on most of Trump's actions will have to wait."  Wow, we wish we had $10 for every vagary and weasel-word in that statement!

They then dive into the meat of the article: a law professor's theory that the pardon could be an impeachable offense (not "is" as the headline declared), adding that even the law professor "admits that this is a novel theory and, with respect, it simply won't fly." Well that's an interesting nugget to bury in the fine print.

Current estimates are that 11 trillion gallons of rain will fall on Texas because of hurricane Harvey. As nightmarish as this is (and please keep the victims in your thoughts), it's still less than the amount of BS our country is inundated with on a daily basis.

UPDATE: REMODEL PRISONER

"You may notice a slight odor from the paint for awhile."

Our master bathroom was painted yesterday, apparently with some concoction that is one part "Classic White" pigment to 99 parts nerve toxin. Seriously, the fumes from this stuff sear your throat no matter where you hide, and has impressive staying power. We should be throwing cans of this stuff to break up Antifa riots - and screw the Geneva conference.

Our contractor also informed us, with great solemnity, that our home is afflicted - perhaps terminally - with three distinctly different textures on the walls. We apparently have "crow's feet" (a trashy 70's look), "trowel wipes" (which means it looks like diarrhea-afflicted trolls smeared their butts on the wall), and a tiny, blessed bit of "orange peel" (which we're assured is "fashion, not fad!") to redeem us with any blind visitors who use braille to judge our walls and overall worth as human beings. Fortunately, it's not too late to turn all of the textures into "orange peel" by forcefully throwing money at our walls and ceilings. Wow - dodged a bullet on that one!

Mind you, the work on the house has only just begun. One of the next steps will be laying wood-look porcelain tiles pretty much everywhere. So far, this has involved moving all of the furniture from half of the house into the other half of the house, making individual rooms look like we're barricading the windows and doors with our belongings to keep zombies out. In the newly-cleared areas, expensive miracle plastic is being bonded to our concrete foundation to control a longstanding moisture incursion problem we've had because our house was mistakenly built over an ancient Indian sweat lodge.

So today (Monday) the tiles start going down on top of that plastic, but - surprise! - there's a little wrinkle there, too.  In order to create the natural look of wood, there is considerable variation between the tiles. Most are fine, but in every box of 20 tiles, there are 3 or 4 repeating patterns which need to be pulled out before they are permanently glued where our non-blind guests can see them.  And guess whose job it is to stand in a hot Texas garage, tear open the filthy boxes, and sort all 2000 or so tiles one by one before the tile guys need them?

The offending tiles, by the way, have become quite recognizable as they come out of the box. One is basically half-black ("The Barack"), one has a disturbing pattern of concentric whirls ("The Twilight Zone"), and another is The One With Two Highly Noticeable Black Dots Which Will Drive Us Crazy When We Spot Them All Over The Floor ("The OCD").

Even looking at this picture, we're getting the willies

And yes, the basic tile color was chosen to match that of Penny's constantly shedding fur. We may be crazy, but we're not impractical.

Penny, The Heartbroken Dog Who Lost Everything (soon to be a very sad children's book)

The Wreck of the Houseperus

"I've got good news!" our renovation contractor said. "Owing to a change in schedule, we can actually begin demolishing the rest of your home tomorrow instead of weeks from now!"

"Good news," in other words, is very much in the eye of the beholder. We now have to desperately scurry around and prepare every stick of furniture to be moved out of harm's way - including taking apart our insanely complex home entertainment system which, we're guessing, will never really go together again because it was assembled by the much younger and more technically savvy guy that we were 20 years ago. These days, we don't know HDMI from Shinola.

We have to unplug all of those bafflingly-connected electronics so that our entertainment center can be broken down and moved. It's a huge piece of custom furniture that in earlier times might have served as the towering centerpiece of Druid rituals.

The sudden change in schedule also forced a whirlwind of buying today: appliances, doors, locks, toilets, and more. Even now, our wallet is whimpering like a mournful puppy and economists are rejoicing at the sudden uptick of economic activity in the nation's heartland.

All of which is to explain why we don't have any real political commentary today, other than the fact that we basically like what Trump had to say about Afghanistan, and we loved the NY Times's spit-flecked outrage over the fact that Trump, unlike his loathsome predecessor, didn't talk specific troop numbers, specific strategies, or declare an automatic "pullout date" for our nation's enemies to pencil into their day planners.

Well played, President Trump.

And now, with hopes of giving you at least a LITTLE something to laugh at, we present an Earwigs cartoon (the frazzled subject of which looks a lot like our self-portrait at the moment). Don't be surprised if you see a LOT of these for awhile...

UPDATE: WIRE WE DOING THIS?

It was unintentional, but the picture in today's Earwigs turned out to be prophetic. Here's the home entertainment situation I had to wrestle with...