What the Hail?!

The cartoon above isn't so much a joke as an accurate depiction of what happened at stately Jarlsberg Mansion last Friday.

In other parts of the country, Spring may be heralded by crocuses blooming and robins appearing. But here in Texas, it's not officially Spring until the tornado warning sirens go off.

Happily we did not get hit by an actual tornado, but we still had some excitement when our home was barraged with the largest hail we've ever personally laid our eyes on...

In the picture above, the image on the left was a hole in the storm clouds rotating ominously right over our house. To fully appreciate the butt-cranching nature of this image, you should imagine the sound of the aforementioned sirens (and an echoing amplified voice repeating "tornado! tornado!") and imagine the great feeling of knowing that you don't have a basement to hide in.

Seriously, basements simply aren't a thing you can have here. Builders claim it's because the clay soils expand and contract too much, but we think it's more of a Texas attitude thing: who but a pussy hat-wearing milquetoast needs to hide from weather when you can just face it down John Wayne-style?

Shortly after the swirling picture was taken, the sky decided to go ahead and kill anyone stupid enough to still be standing in their yard. See those hailstones? They're big, but they were even bigger when they first hurtled out of the sky and started destroying whatever they hit. Trust us, when these things are still falling you do not want to run out into the yard to gather souvenirs.

We think we got off pretty lucky: we had a skylight shattered by a direct hit, and we may or may not need the roof re-shingled (we're waiting for an inspection). But on the plus side, we got free sky ice to put in our scotch.

BONUS: THE SHIRT HITS THE FANS

At one time or another, we've all asked ourselves the same question: "How can I quickly offend others without time-wasting conversation?"

The answer is here, courtesy of our all-new, Amazon-exclusive Johnny Optimism t-shirt! Available in a rainbow of colors (assuming that the rainbow only has 5 colors and one of them is black) and both men's and women's styles (not that we mean to be binary gender normative), Johnny's bittersweet sense of carpe diem is sure to put a smile on the face of anyone who should probably be both medicated and supervised.

Besides being a handsome addition to your wardrobe, the t-shirt is also a perfect gift for anyone who you'd like to render speechless or a lovely "get well" present for anyone who hasn't picked up on your previous passive-aggressive remarks.

So now that we've got Johnny in the marketplace, what should come next? Anyone up for a Stilton's Place shirt? How about a patriotic design featuring Busty Ross?

Seriously, this isn't about making money so much as just having a little fun (hey, if we were smart about business, this wouldn't be a free site).

To order a shirt, just click on one of the links above - or do an Amazon search for "Johnny Optimism." Even if you're not buying, it will be fun to confuse Amazon's algorithms!

Raging Bull - Part Two

This explains why they don't want us seeing into their backpacks.

Ultra-liberal actor Robert De Niro has made yet another attack on the Right, saying that with gun-toting, Trump-loving morons like us "we're at the point where it's beyond trying to see another person's point of view." As if he'd ever tried to see our point of view.

But we had to laugh at Bob's assertion that the young students who recently participated in school walkouts are nascent geniuses whose moral strength and spontaneous wisdom will eventually create a better America at the voting booth.

Most telling is De Niro's phrase, "they're the ones that feel the way we do" - the "we" in this case referring to hardcore Leftists. But note that he doesn't say these kids think the way his Hollywood pals do, just that they feel the same way. Because Progressivism is always about feeling rather than thinking.

Which is just as well, because kids are idiots these days. Exhibit A is the current "condom snorting challenge" sweeping social media. The kids take videos of themselves snorting a condom up one nostril, sucking it back until it's dangling down the back of their throat, then grabbing the end (while trying, sometimes unsuccessfully, not to puke) so the whole pre-lubed mucus-coated shebang can be dragged through their nasal passages and yanked out of their mouth. After which they post the appalling video online to make sure that they will never be hired by any potential employer who has access to a computer.

But eventually these Trojenz-tooting dolts will make it to the polls. We can only hope that sometime between now and then, the "become an informed voter challenge" turns into an online craze.

PERSONAL: THE KEY TO UNHAPPINESS

We know exactly how he feels

I'll confess to not being able to fully focus on today's post owing to the fact that I lost a key and it's driving me mad.

Or more accurately, not driving me mad (or anywhere else) because it's my car key. Not the kind you can go to a hardware store and copy for a buck. NooOOooo, this is one of those fancy high-tech keys which will cost hundreds of dollars to replace if it can't be found. And it's the ONLY key missing from my key ring, which is kept in my pocket at all times (can you feel the Agatha Christie-style mystery building?).

Owing to my barnacle-like lifestyle and the fact that the key must have been lost at home (how else could I have driven there?), there are very few places to look...and I've looked in all of them. Repeatedly. Crawling on my belly like a reptile (or a Swiffer, considering the dirt and dog hair I collected) to look under, well, everything.

This is made all the more distressing by the fact that I have just a wee touch of obsessive-compulsive disorder (who else would do a thousand cartoons about a sick kid using the same art?). Mind you, I don't have OCD to the extent that I wash my hands (or any other part of my anatomy) hundreds of times a day, but I've got it bad enough to rearrange the shopping carts in a parking lot if the smaller ones have become mixed in with the bigger ones. But hey, we all do that, right? Right...?!

Anyway, for the sake of my sanity I'm hoping that damnable key will turn up soon. I'd say more, but I'm off to Amazon.com to buy a metal detector.

EXCITING UPDATE!

The key has been found! And I'm rather proud of the Holmes-ian process I used to locate it. I asked myself what I had done differently than usual yesterday and, sadly, it was exactly one thing: upon returning home from a power lunch at Wendy's, I pulled out the car key and then reached into the back seat with the same hand to grab a sweatshirt.

I returned to the scene of the crime, flashlight in hand, searched the car unsuccessfully for awhile... then spotted the key neatly tucked between the two front seats in a spot as thoroughly hidden and inaccessible as Barack Obama's college records.

I realize that this makes all the preamble above fairly pointless, but I wasn't about to erase this much perfectly serviceable writing (grin).   -Stilton

Day After Dyngus

With immigration (and a possible invading army of Hondurans) much in the news, we think it's time for some sober contemplation of the larger issues and implications associated with weaving different nationalities and traditions into our great national tapestry.

Is assimilation an impossible dream? Or is America made better through the contributions of people from other parts of the world? We firmly believe in the latter proposition, if only in recognition of the great gift Polish immigrants brought to their new homeland: Dyngus Day!

Dyngus Day occurs on Easter Monday, and seems like an especially good idea to those whose Cadbury Easter eggs turned out to be full of liquor. Likely based on ancient fertility rituals, on Dyngus Day boys splash water on girls whom they find attractive and the girls, if similarly interested, tap their suitors with a pussy willow. Presumably, great merriment and a slew of new Polish kids ensue in the fullness of time.

In some sad backwaters of our nation, Dyngus Day still isn't celebrated with the same enthusiasm as other ethnic drinking holidays like St. Patrick's Day or Cinco de Mayo. Perhaps because restaurants and bars aren't sure if they can advertise a "Big Dyngus Party" without getting into trouble with the law or, perhaps, attracting an entirely different clientele than they were aiming for.

But in Buffalo, New York they do the day up right, complete with parades, polka bands, a competition for the much-coveted title of "Miss Dyngus," and festive Dyngus Day costumes like these...

For those of you with dirty minds, we should point out that the men in the picture above are actually dressed as pierogies - the traditional Dyngus Day pastry. Said pierogies may be stuffed with macaroni and cheese, sour cherry filling, or buttered sauerkraut...making each reach for an hors d'oeuvre a culinary game of Russian roulette.

Here at Stilton's Place, we think it's high time to give Dyngus Day the attention and respect it deserves. And if you don't want to take our word for it, just listen to what respected journalist (and Stormy Daniels Fan Club president) Anderson Cooper has to say...