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| Full credit to Mrs. Jarlsberg for pointing out the "3 a.m. connection." |
Many years ago, Hillary Clinton's primary campaign for President scored big with a political ad about the dreaded "3 a.m. phone call." The spot suggested that during a crisis (and what else happens at 3 a.m.?), Americans could sleep better knowing that a President Hillary was answering the call.
Why? Because she would able to handle any problem thanks to having years of experience and a vagina, unlike her challenger Barack Obama - who had no experience and only possibly had a vagina.
As it worked out, both got a chance to answer that late night crisis call. As Secretary of State, Hillary took (ever so briefly) the phone call about the attack on our embassy in Benghazi. But then she ignored it, just like she had ignored the hundreds of previous messages from the embassy begging for additional security.
Still, Hillary did slightly better than Obama - who not only didn't take the call but, to this day, hasn't accounted for his whereabouts at the time. Which is certainly no reason to suspect that he was engaged in a cocaine-fueled orgy with actor Kal Penn in the Lincoln bedroom, and we'd be the last ones to even suggest such a thing.
And then there's the much-reviled President Trump.
Not only was he genuinely ready to deal with a crisis, at 3 a.m., he actually flew to Andrews Air Force Base to welcome home the three American prisoners released from North Korea.
The Left is still obsessed with slickness and style points (no matter how ineffectual), while a growing number of Americans are voicing their support of a President who keeps producing tangible and substantial accomplishments.
And yes, we will sleep better tonight because of that.
(Editorial note: A previous version of today's cartoon & commentary incorrectly stated that Trump flew to Alaska. That's what we get for trying to write while sober.)
WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE, WHO NEEDS MRI's?
Owing to our great enthusiasm for trying new things which can't somehow be avoided, we experienced our first MRI brain scan yesterday and learned some very important things about our mental makeup. Like, how quickly we'd start spilling state secrets if tortured.
The MRI scan was looking for the cause of our previously documented nighttime tap-dancing and self-pugilism. The bad news is that the condition seems to be getting a bit worse. But the good news is that with all this practice, our nocturnal choreography is now fabulous!
We'll admit that we were slightly apprehensive about the procedure owing to it's extreme similarity to being buried alive. But our fears were quickly allayed by a friendly, soft-spoken technician wearing a hijab who assured us there would be no danger from the immense, whirling mega-magnet as long as we removed our hearing aids and...and...
Okay, we don't know what the other dangers were because our hearing aids were gone. The rest of the instructions were basically delivered in pantomime as we stretched out on the pallet which would soon slide us into the heart of the electromagnetic storm.
We were given headphones to allow us to listen to relaxing music during the procedure, and we'd actually burned our own CD of soothing favorites which didn't mention death much. After the headphones, a metal cage was locked over our upturned face and the technician slipped into the adjoining room to push the "Fire One" button.
While waiting in the tube (and only opening our eyes once, which was a mistake) we had a lot of quality time to think about a variety of things:
• Did someone leave an oxygen tank in the room which could be sucked explosively into the space currently occupied by my head?
• If there's a metal alien implant in my head, will it puree my brain once the MRI starts spinning it like a particle accelerator? (Go ahead and laugh about the alien implant thing, but I could tell you stories...)
• Is there an active shooter in the building?
• Is it actually possible to choke to death on your own post-nasal drip?
But these thoughts were quickly banished when the machine started whirling, beeping, banging, shaking, and occasionally emitting Klaxon signals of the kind usually only heard on a submarine attempting an emergency dive.
This cacophony went on for a LONG time, largely drowning out poor Enya as she tried to croon "Orinoco Flow" to a hyperventilating, increasingly panic-ridden deaf guy. In total, our stay in the MRI tube lasted about 40 minutes, which feels a lot longer when you're trying to convince yourself that you actually can breathe, no matter what your heart and lungs are telling you.
But eventually it was over and the friendly technician smiled and said...well...
We have no idea what she said, because our hearing aids were still in a locker in the next room. But she seemed happy enough, and pulled a contrast-injecting needle out of our arm before helping us sit up. She also gave us a small bottle of water which, oddly, seemed to be shaking quite a bit.
A couple of hours after returning home to our beloved wife, faithful dog, and cheap scotch, we got a phone call from the MRI facility giving us the good news that the procedure hadn't spotted any "gross abnormalities," which constitutes a clinically significant difference between our brain and Hillary Clinton's birthday suit.
The other good news is that these results make it far more likely that our wacky sleep condition (which our neurologist, with a twinkle in her eye, describes as "violent seizures") is probably just a weird reaction to an antidepressant we started about 6 months ago...and are now getting off of as quickly as possible.
So hopefully we'll soon be able to shelve our tap shoes and put this whole thing to bed. So to speak.
SPECIAL WTF BONUS!
This may not be our brightest idea, but if you want to see one of our more colorful nighttime episodes, here's your chance. If you click this link, you can download an MP4 file of some highly kinetic night time video we recently took (about 40 seconds long). TRIGGER WARNING: In complete seriousness, this footage is potentially upsetting even though we added The Who's "Cobwebs & Strange" as a soundtrack because we have a really strange sense of humor and it works beautifully. But really, think twice before clicking because it's not a joke or a put on and you can't unsee this.
If you take the plunge, note that the real-time speed of the footage has not been altered, there is no particular discomfort for your humble narrator while this nonsense is going on other than chagrin and annoyance (there's no pain, no loss of consciousness, and no after effects), and that the subject is wearing a CPAP mask and not just huffing paint fumes. As an additional bonus, you can enjoy a special surprise guest appearance by Penny, the official emotional support dog of Hope n' Change!
Please don't share the video with others or on any social media sites. Unless, of course, you happen to be friends with a top notch neurologist, or know a booking agent for America's Got Talent.
