The Choir Infernal

Although it's a bit early in our day (barely) for mixed drinks, we can't help but indulge in mixed metaphors when trying to comprehend what's going on in the news. Per the cartoon, we can't quite decide whether the news broadcasts relating to the specious Trump/Russia investigation are coming from another planet, or whether the alleged journalists in the mainstream media have finally gone native, adorned themselves in grass skirts and war paint and, high on adrenalin and their own screaming chants, are now throwing spears at anything that moves.

Not since Michael Jackson set his noggin ablaze while shooting a Pepsi commercial have we seen so much "hair on fire" news. And we don't get it.

Did the Russians hack our election? No. Did they "influence" the result of our election? There's been no evidence of it. Did Trump conspire with Russia to make these non-events happen? Again, there's not a scintilla of evidence.  But you'd never know it from the rabid stories being reported virtually everywhere.

In some ways, we liken this phenomenon to the whole global warming sham - only now, instead of seeing "consensus science" we're seeing "consensus journalism" in which a story without substance or evidence is declared to be incontrovertibly true simply because so many nitwits have agreed to report it.

It's insanity, of course - and all the more frightening for that. We may be witnessing an attempted coup d'etat driven almost entirely by an overtly lying leftist media. And it's additionally worrisome to think about how the ever-volatile President Trump might react; after all, he's brought much of this situation upon himself (and us) with his Tourette's-like need to tweet every half-baked thought which ricochets through the caverns of his mind.

We'd say more, only we've managed to stall long enough that it IS time for a nice mixed drink. We're thinking cheap scotch mixed with an extra shot of our usual bile.

AND BECAUSE IT'S FRIDAY...

...we deserve a laugh, so here's another old cartoon by Stilton's father!

It's not parking as long as you keep the motor running. So to speak.

To Serve Americans

And some of us are ESPECIALLY good in taco bowls.

Mainstream media outlets are currently having screaming hissy fits over unsubstantiated reports that Donald Trump, noted lunatic, actually held a meeting with disgusting, potentially world-destroying Russian bastards and told them top secret anti-terror information which has only been widely reported in the world's newspapers since last March.

This action is apparently the opening of the seventh seal, and the immediate cue for impending Armageddon, impeachment, or yet another humorless SNL skit for Alec "Duck Lips" Baldwin.

Owing to the fact that we don't believe anything from the Left-leaning media these days, we find it very hard to get excited about all of this. However, in the interest of at least trying to understand the Liberals' mindset on all of this, we've invented a fun game - and you can play along!

From now on, when you hear a story about Trump and the Russians, substitute the word "Martians." And go ahead and imagine they're really bad ass Martians who want to eat our brains, defile our women, and get their own special restrooms. Now we can have all the terrifying fun the Lefties seem to be enjoying!

Although we shouldn't make light of this very, very serious situation. Is it possible that Trump is babbling state secrets in an irresponsible manner? Hell yes! But is it worse than the way Hillary protected state secrets? Not so much.

Of course, we should take seriously the threat from the actual Russians. It was they, after all, who grabbed the DNC emails and shared them with Wikileaks, causing Hillary to lose the election, right? I mean, even lacking any evidence that it happened, we all KNOW it's the truth because it's been reported so often. But...

Now there's a new wrinkle. It seems that rather than the big bad Russians, the DNC emails may actually have been sent to Wikileaks by a DNC staffer named Seth Rich who turned up mysteriously dead soon after the leaks were made public. Well, maybe not that mysteriously...

Dirty Hillary.

It seems fairly sure that Rich sent over 40,000 emails to Wikileaks - perhaps hoping to head off a presidency by a hopelessly corrupt Clinton crime syndicate. And according to a private investigator, police were told to "stand down" from investigating the murder (described as a "botched burglary" since the gunman had no interest in money or personal belongings).

Is the story true? We have no idea - but it has a LOT more credibility than the accusations being made against Trump. And certainly is more deserving of a special investigation than anything the President has been accused of doing.

It's Beginning To Look a Lot Like Crispness

It is an inescapable fact of life that as we age, the advertisers who have paid for our demographic information will do their best to advertise products which they feel will appeal to our age-appropriate needs and passions. Not to mention our declining ability to make good fiscal decisions.

Which is why those of us in the Jarlsberg household have grown used to getting mailers and phone calls offering us invitations to retirement/investment seminars, annuity offers, brochures for cruise vacations, great deals on "to your door" catheter deliveries, Social Security supplemental insurance, and seemingly benign catalogs offering everything from compression socks and elevated toilet seats to anaconda-sized vibrating ding-dongs, and high-power "personal" vacuum pumps which, if you're not feeling romantic, look perfectly capable of milking the cows in record time.

But with all that said, we hit a hilarious new low the other day when we received a big, cheery postcard letting us know that we could enjoy a FREE LUNCH AT RED LOBSTER just for sitting through a fun-filled seminar on getting cremated.

Yikes!

The mother and daughter on the invitation (shown above, though we added the flames) look like there couldn't possibly be a more enjoyable outing than enjoying some crab cakes and cheesy bisquits while hearing how long your body will have to roast over open flames in order for the bones to get crunchy enough for grinding, and what will happen to anything foreign which was still in your body, like fillings, a titanium hip joint, or perhaps an anaconda-sized vibrating ding-dong.

We can't really think of a topic which would make us less enthusiastic about visiting Red Lobster, though we have to admit that we're still considering attending just so that when the waiter comes for our order, we can say "I think I'll have the blackened..." (point at other guest) "that guy."

Not that we're against cremation. When the time comes, we're looking forward to that being our big, smudgy, final carbon footprint insult to Bill Nye, Al Gore, and Leonardo DeCaprio.

Plus, cremation can be a huge money-saver over traditional burial. For instance, our own parents had their "cremains" stored in a beautifully painted cookie tin which had been purchased at a garage sale only months before being pressed into service. "It will be handy for something," our father said presciently.

Similarly, we'd like our own ashes to be kept in an urn which is unpretentious, a bit fun, and (like us) extremely cheap. A quick look online turned up these potential receptacles, all of which have varying degrees of appeal...

Haunted house, Frog Prince, Cthulu, or KFC bucket? So many tough choices!

Alternately, if our family doesn't want us haunting our own home, they can cast the ashes into a few places we've suggested (including scenic vistas, the eyes of our enemies or, if subtlety is the goal, baked into brownies to be given as gifts).

In which case we'd still want an elegant and expensive-looking (albeit empty) urn bearing our name to be placed on the fireplace mantle and subsequently have it filled with hard pretzel chunks which could be casually munched for the sole purpose of freaking out sensitive guests.

We're not sure what laws apply to this sort of thing, which is why we're really looking forward to taking part in a robust question-and-answer session when we visit Red Lobster.