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 |   Tales from real life |
| Well, if they're not true, they oughta be! |
Occasionally, this topic is suggested in the WDC newsfeed: Name something that you're simply happy with... For me, that would be my 2008 Mazda Miata convertible. I started looking for a convertible in 2010, after driving a 'pop-top' Honda Del Sol for a couple of years. That car had been gifted to me by my older sister. It felt a little tired at 180,000 miles, but I enjoyed the (almost) open-air experience with the top removed. And the engine was still running well, so I regifted the Del Sol to my daughter and told my wife that I needed a real convertible for myself. There were a number of desirable cars available at the time, even after I disqualified the four-door models as too big and the Lotus Elise as too exotic. I considered the Saturn Sky, Toyota MR2, Honda S2000, BMW M3, even the FIAT Spider. They were all attractive cars with the top down, but less so with their ragtops up. I decided that I wanted a power retractable hardtop. That left me with only the Mazda Miata in my price range. But that was okay, because Mazda builds reliable cars that get good gas mileage. And the Miata with the hardtop up is almost as pretty as it is with the hardtop down. I got lucky in February of 2011 when a low mileage Miata PRHT model showed up at a nearby Toyota dealership. The paint is Stormy Blue Mica, and it has the upgraded suspension package with 17-inch wheels, Bilstein shocks, and a limited slip rear differential. In other words, Zoom-Zoom! The Toyota salesman told me it was a trade-in from a guy who married a woman with 2 kids and needed the interior space of a RAV4. The salesman was also motivated by the cold February rain to move that convertible quickly. So, I got exactly the car I wanted, with only 4300 miles on it, for $10,000 dollars less than new. And I've been simply happy with it for the last fourteen years. Something I'm not happy with is my arthritic left knee. One of the reasons I finally gave up my motorcycle and bought the Miata is that my knee no longer felt solid enough to handle riding. And the knee has only deteriorated further over the years. I've seen several doctors, I've used a lot of aspirin and recently, I've begun to contemplate a knee replacement. So, a couple of weeks ago I went to an orthopedist to discuss the alternatives. He insisted on a new series of X-rays and determined that I have advanced arthritis. Well, duh. Then he drained 30cc of fluid from the knee and gave me a cortisone shot. The orthopedist told me that I could have a knee replacement whenever I was ready, but the cortisone might allow me to postpone it for another year or two. I can hardly believe how well it worked! Why didn't I try that years ago? I started walking normally again immediately. The sun was shining brightly as I left the clinic, and so was my attitude. I felt like a kid with a new toy. I felt so good that I got a little overexuberant on the drive home. I love cranking up the tunes and going through the gears in my Miata. I like going fast, but I admit that I'm slightly less skilled than the average grand prix driver. I missed a shift and hit the gas in fifth when I meant to be in third. The RPMs went zoom, but the car did not. Uh, oh, what's that acrid burning smell? Yep, I fried the clutch. The car still drove okay (as long as I didn't accelerate too hard), but like my arthritic knee, I knew it would only get worse with time. And unlike the knee, there's no quick fix to make the clutch feel better. So, last week, I took the Miata in for a clutch replacement. And I told the shop to bring the scheduled maintenance up to date while they were at it. Then they pointed out that the ten-year old tires were starting to chunk off little bits of tread. Adding four new tires to the bill made a total of ouch! But I love that car, and the new clutch feels even better than my lubricated knee. So, even after the big bill, if you ask me to name something that I'm simply happy with... It would still be my 2008 Mazda Miata convertible. Zoom-Zoom! |
There may be political ideas worth dying for, but there none that are worth killing for. This week, Donald Trump expanded his campaign for world dominance by ordering the murder of dozens of Houthi rebels. Do you know who the Houthis are? Where they live? What they're rebelling against? Or why the U.S. military conducted an air strike against them? Neither do I, but we're in good company. No one at the White House knows either. The Houthis are generally anti-American, but they didn't commit any specific offense to trigger the strike. They're an irritant to the Yemeni government, but they don't present much of a threat to the U.S. So, what's the deal? Well, their dead are intended partly to serve as an object lesson for Iran. We know this because subtlety is not Donald Trump's strong suit. He publicly boasted that killing Houthi rebels was a 'signal' to the Iranian government. Some signal. It takes a truly evil person to abuse their official power to the extent of murder. But the killings weren't really about Iran either, they were primarily an ego boost for Donald J. Trump. Imagine how powerful that nasty old man feels to wield the Godlike power of death. I'll bet it really stiffens his little mushroom. Everyone will have to take him seriously if he kills a bunch of people, right? Adolph Hitler and Mao Zedong aren't mocked as pathetic losers. And the American news media will surely get the message and start giving him positive news coverage. Or else a lot more people might have to be killed. I mean look what happened to the Houthis. But being Trump means never doing the right things and never doing things right. Acting president Musk took the shine off Donald's triumph by pointing out that it's the unelected bureaucrats (like himself and Pete Hegseth) who do the actual killing. Despite pulling the strings, Donald Trump remains a pathetic loser. Just a figurehead to be exploited by those who wield the real power. |
Earning My Derision (to the tune of Losing My Religion by R.E.M.) Your lies are bigger They're bigger than you And you are not nice The lengths that you will go to The disdain in your eyes Oh, please, don't say that stuff You're fucking up That's you at the rally That's you in the spotlight Sowing your dissension I try to withstand your lies And I don't know if I can do it Oh, no, you've said too much You never could shut up I can always hear you sneering Your insults are meant to sting You always play the bully Every moment Of every waking hour You choose to drag me down I try to find some good in you Like a hurt, lost and blinded MAGA fool Oh, no, I've lost too much I've been set up Consider this Consider this, the hint of the century Consider this, your whip That brought me to my knees, failed What if all your fantasies come Flailing down Oh, yes, you're fucking up I can always hear you sneering Your insults are meant to sting You always play the bully And I can only scream All I have are screams That's you at the rally That's you in the spotlight Earning my derision I try to withstand your lies And I don't know if I can do it Oh, no, you've said too much You never could shut up I can always hear you sneering Your insults are meant to sting You always play the bully And the pain won't go away Try, cry, why try? That’s my nightmare scream Just a scream Just a scream, scream |
This was my entry for the February 2025 round of the The Humorous Poetry Contest  .Knock, Knock, Madame “Knock, knock,” I cry in urgent pain. “Who could it be?” you ask again. “Tis I, madame, let me explain.” “Begone, strange man, you plead in vain.” “I do not wish to be a bore, but lift the latch, I must implore.” “I’ve opened once, so why do more?” “Because my damn foot’s in the door!” When I was a kid, I would never have dropped an f-bomb. My mom would have beat my butt with her yardstick and then washed my mouth out with Ivory soap (99 44⁄100% pure). To be fair, she was actually much more kind than strict. You could count the number of times she used the yardstick on one hand and the soap sessions on the other. It must have been effective, though, because I rarely swear or use rough language. Beyond an occasional dammit when I stub a toe or hammer my thumb, of course. Nobody's perfect, and even 99 44⁄100% pure is a tall order. My generally polite usage is especially surprising because my dad was a real pro with vulgar invective. He learned early from cowboys, miners, and loggers, then honed his skill with a four-year stint in the navy. Dad could swear fluently and at length without being boring or repetitive (unlike most stand-up comics). But that was his outside voice. He (mostly) refrained when he was in the house or with his family in public. None of us kids ever even tried to match his example. We thought it was clever to get away with saying things like 'dam water' or 'hell-o operator'. Oh, days of innocence lost! One opportunity for childish hilarity was this knock, knock joke: Knock, knock! Who's there? Madame Madame who? My damn foot's stuck in the door! My poem is intended as an homage to that old joke. I agree that the last line is strained, but I decided to remain true to the way I remember the punchline. |
A couple of years ago, there was near panic as a Chinese spy balloon drifted across the entire continental U.S before being shot down by heroic U.S. aviators. Apologists for the communist regime claimed it was merely a 'weather balloon'. They said it was no different from the dozens of balloons released every year by our own National Weather Service. I'm not so sure that it was an innocent science mission. That balloon came within hundreds of miles of several sensitive U.S. sites. It had a number of so-called meteorological devices that could have gathered vital information about rainfall, windspeed. or even reservoir levels. The only thing that prevented a more serious data breach was that it had no directional control. Thank God for Asian drivers! But there is a much larger conspiracy being perpetrated on the American public by even more nefarious agents of a foreign government. Imagine a fleet of millions of high-tech spy vehicles roaming across America with cameras, microphones, radar, and GPS tracking. And many of these interlopers have been given permission to access secure government parking areas. They're even waved through checkpoints at military bases! It may seem inconceivable, but the co-president of the United States, an unelected bureaucrat, is the one behind the conspiracy. And he's given the 'elected' president a $300 million bribe to look the other way as he undermines America. I'm talking about Tesla spy craft, of course. We know for a fact that every one of Elon's electric vehicles is connected to the internet. Collectively, they can upload Terabytes of sensitive data to Russia's Foreign Intelligence Service every day. They can listen and record every word uttered in their vicinity. They have millions of camera eyes monitoring our every move. And here's another chilling fact. Every one of these self-driving cars is capable of piloting itself to a classified target to gather secret intelligence. No driver needed! And, very soon, they'll be able to contact Vladimir Putin directly through the Starlink satellite constellation. Russia, are you listening? |
Selling your soul only feels wrong while you have one. Once it's gone, you don't miss it at all. - The Gospel of Trump I called the university and booked some time on their scanning electron microscope today. I wanted to see if I could find some respect for President Trump. No go. I felt bad about it for a minute and then I thought, Wait, maybe I should look at him instead of me. If I can detect any reason at all to respect him, then I might feel better. I set the microscope to its maximum magnification and looked for compassion, kindness, or humility. Nope, nope, and nope. Well, Christian virtues aren't everything. Maybe I can find courage, integrity, or wisdom. Not a trace. There has to be something positive, what about humor, intelligence, or good looks? Not even a blip. Then the view became murky, and I realized that the lens was completely fouled with uttered bullshit. I shook my head in disappointment and left. My time slot was about done, anyway. |
If crime doesn't pay, then you're doing it wrong. - The Gospel of Trump Today the U.S. officially declared their support for the Russian invasion of Ukraine. This change of position was made public with a pro-Russia vote at the United Nations. It would have been unthinkable just six weeks ago. But the corruptor in chief campaigned on a platform of vengeance and it's the only promise that he can be trusted to keep. Decent American citizens and free elections may be his primary enemies, but he has a long list, a long memory, and he longs to get even with the entire world. And for such a lazy, cowardly man, the only way to get to even is to drag others down. When Donald Trump was appointed president in 2016 as a DEI hire (Didn't Earn It), he realized that his position was precarious. He knew that Barack Obama was his superior in intellect, political acumen, and as a man. And Trump was cunning enough to understand that Obama's vice president was still a threat. Most people didn't take Joe Biden seriously as a candidate, but Trump feared him as an extension of the Obama presidency. But the problem with attacking Joe Biden is that he's always been a decent and honorable man. So, the dishonorable thing to do was to attack Joe's kids instead. Punching down is right in Trump's wheelhouse and abusing the power of the presidency is a trivial matter to a career criminal. He fully expected the president of Ukraine to be equally corrupt and 'do me a favor though.' He wanted Zelenskyy to manufacture evidence against Hunter Biden so that Trump could smear Joe by proxy. His ploy failed miserably, and Trump was proven right about the Biden threat. Voters transferred their admiration for Obama to Joe Biden and Trump was humiliated at the polls in 2020. The big lie and the insurrection were purely about an egomaniac trying to save face. A pathetic loser like Trump needs his revenge and Ukraine is high on his enemies list. I am 100% certain that Trump gave a green light to the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Getting others to do the dirty work is classic Trump. He would have hinted that Americans admired strong men like Putin and that they would never support a clown like Zelenskyy. He would have praised the takeover of Crimea with words like manifest destiny and played up Russian superiority to the lesser Slavic peoples. Trump may even have been cunning enough to suggest the invasion in such a way that Putin believed it was his own idea. Trump publicly sowed seeds of doubt to weaken NATO and encourage Putin. And he has consistently belittled Americans who support military aid for Ukraine. And now it's all coming together. An autistic billionaire who isn't good at picking up on social cues is doing the dirty work for a sociopathic liar whose only real talent is gaslighting the gullible. What could go wrong? A million casualties over three years and 100 billion dollars in infrastructure damage? That doesn't bother Donald Trump. He's never had any skin in the game. They weren't his people, and it wasn't his country. But now he's poised for the biggest win of his life. The partition of Ukraine into Russian and U.S. zones of influence isn't just a brilliant theft. It's also a most satisfying revenge on a stupid little man who doesn't understand that favors are how business gets done. |
| There's nothing new under the sun. The text below is from the Old Testament. Habakkuk was a prophet who lived around 612 BCE. If you substitute 'Russians' for 'Chaldeans' in verse 6, 'MAGA' for 'people' in verse 14, and 'Trump' for 'enemy' in verse 16, then it reads like it was written yesterday. Habakkuk 1 - The Prophet's Complaint 1 The oracle that the prophet Habakkuk saw. 2 O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not listen? Or cry to you “Violence!” and you will not save? 3 Why do you make me see wrongdoing and look at trouble? Destruction and violence are before me; strife and contention arise. 4 So the law becomes slack and justice never prevails. The wicked surround the righteous— therefore judgment comes forth perverted. 5 Look at the nations, and see! Be astonished! Be astounded! For a work is being done in your days that you would not believe if you were told. 6 For I am rousing the Chaldeans, (Russians) that fierce and impetuous nation, who march through the breadth of the earth to seize dwellings not their own. 7 Dread and fearsome are they; their justice and dignity proceed from themselves. 8 Their horses are swifter than leopards, more menacing than wolves at dusk; their horses charge. Their horsemen come from far away; they fly like an eagle swift to devour. 9 They all come for violence, with faces pressing forward; they gather captives like sand. 10 At kings they scoff, and of rulers they make sport. They laugh at every fortress, and heap up earth to take it. 11 Then they sweep by like the wind; they transgress and become guilty; their own might is their god! 12 Are you not from of old, O Lord my God, my Holy One? You shall not die. O Lord, you have marked them for judgment; and you, O Rock, have established them for punishment. 13 Your eyes are too pure to behold evil, and you cannot look on wrongdoing; why do you look on the treacherous, and are silent when the wicked swallow those more righteous than they? 14 You have made people (MAGA) like the fish of the sea, like crawling things that have no ruler. 15 The enemy (Trump) brings all of them up with a hook; he drags them out with his net, he gathers them in his seine; so he rejoices and exults. 16 Therefore he sacrifices to his net and makes offerings to his seine; for by them his portion is lavish, and his food is rich. 17 Is he then to keep on emptying his net, and destroying nations without mercy? |
I never met a scam I didn't like. - The Gospel of Trump Actions speak louder than words. The Trump administration is officially and openly an organized crime organization. His cabinet is made up of professional liars, convicted felons, sexual predators, nasty drunks, and mental defectives. Some of his cabinet picks and agency appointees openly bought their nominations with campaign donations. Others begged his favor on their knees, with their head between his knees. The only firm requirement to be part of the Trump administration is to swear a corrupt allegiance to The Donald first, MAGA second, and country last. Even democrats can join the Trump crime family if they can prove themselves to be morally bankrupt and utterly corrupt. Using the Department of Justice for Trump's personal political ends is the most blatant act of corruption to date. The offer to drop federal charges against democratic mayor Eric Adams in return for his loyalty is simple extortion. And the negotiations at Mar-a-Lago for his soul weren't even done in secret. The ass-kissing photo-op was publicly proclaimed. It was followed the next day by an announcement that the U.S. attorney in New York had been ordered to withdraw the charges against Mayor Adams. Again, the deal wasn't kept secret. The order from Washington DC said plainly that the DOJ decision was made without evaluating the evidence or the legal basis for the charges against Adams. It's almost too difficult to believe, but the so-called president actually wanted a public example of how he's solidifying his grip on absolute power. So, Tom Homan gleefully humiliated the New York Mayor on FOX television. He openly referred to the agreement that Trump forced on Adams at Mar-a-Lago. Then Homan explicitly threatened to reinstate the charges if Adams doesn't do as he's told. He made it plain that Trump 'owns' Adams and has full control of New York City. In a legitimate administration this corrupt quid-pro-quo would be grounds for dismissal of both Homan and Attorney General Pam Bondi. But for these MAGA Capos there is no conscience, no shame, and no accountability. Just like the Don himself. |
I sometimes wonder about the mental processes that led our ancestors to brew beer. Brewing may not be rocket science, but it is somewhat complicated. Beer production starts with soaking barley and allowing it to germinate to become malt. The malt is dried and mashed (coarsely ground) and then steeped in hot water to release starches and sugars. The resulting liquid is called wort. Hops and spices are added to enhance the flavor and then the wort is boiled. Yeast is added and the fermentation process produces alcohol. Brewing requires three weeks or more depending on the type of beer. And the brew must be filtered, bottled and aged for a month or two to smooth the taste of the final product. Today’s craft beers are easy to drink, but it's difficult to imagine the centuries of trial and error that culminated in modern brewing. Interestingly, scotch whisky production is almost identical to making beer. The hops are left out when making whiskey and the wort is distilled after fermentation instead of being bottled. It’s not entirely inaccurate to say that whisky is just distilled beer. But more complicated to produce. Wine, on the other hand, is almost inevitable. Yes, making fine wine involves both science and art, but the basic process is rediscovered on a regular basis. Once you've squeezed out a glass of fruit juice, it only takes a couple of weeks of lazy inattention to achieve fermentation. There are millions of tiny yeast microbes living all around us. They send out spores that float through the air and land in our open containers. Some of them spoil our milk and some turn a mundane fruit juice into marvelous wine. Unlike the complex recipe for brewing beer or distilling whisky, the serendipitous discovery of wine is easy to grasp. And apple cider is a perfect example of this natural process. I bought a gallon jug of pure apple cider last fall and stored it outside on the deck because the fridge was full. Our deck is on the shaded side of the house, so the temperature is mostly cool. I enjoyed a glass of fresh apple cider every day for a week or so. Then the appeal faded and I forgot about the jug for a while. There was still a quart of cider left when I finally got back to it, and I heard a little pop like a champagne cork when I removed the cap. The whoosh of released pressure had an unmistakable aroma of ethanol, so I knew very well what had happened. A wiser man might have poured it down the drain, but curiosity prevailed. I had to try a sip of the now hard cider. It wasn't half bad, slightly fizzy, tangy on the tongue, and definitely alcoholic. So, I drank a full glass and enjoyed it more than when it was ‘soft’. The cider incident reminded me of making balloon wine when I was in high school. I don't remember where I came across the idea. Maybe I got it from Popular Mechanics magazine, maybe Reader's Digest, but probably not from Julia Child. The recipe seemed so simple that I had to give it a try. It called for a couple of cans of frozen grape juice concentrate, water, sugar, yeast, a gallon-size glass jar with a narrow neck, and a latex balloon. And all of those things were readily available in my mother's kitchen. The grape juice can be red, white, or even rosé if you use one can of each. Mix the juice per the instructions on the can and the resulting liquid will almost fill the gallon jar. A pinch of yeast is required to get things started and putting the balloon on the jar seals the deal. You can add an extra cup of sugar to the mix to ensure that the little yeasties are well fed and motivated to create alcohol. Using less sugar results in a dry wine and more sugar gives a sweeter taste. And more sugar ensures a maximum amount of alcohol, so that’s what I did. Be sure to keep your makeshift wine vat out of the sun. Putting it in the back of the closet where your mom won't find it is a good choice. The basic process of fermentation is that the yeast consume sugar as they grow and excrete alcohol as a byproduct. But when the alcohol concentration rises to a certain point, the yeast dies off. Which goes to show that you shouldn't shit where you sleep. The steadily growing yeast also produce CO2 gas that partially inflates the balloon. You'll see the balloon expand as the yeast does its work and then deflate slightly to signal that the ordinary grape juice has miraculously become wine. It takes about three weeks for the yeast to do their thing. I didn't know any better, so I used a packet of baker's yeast from my mom's spice rack. The wine might taste better with real brewer's yeast, but it becomes alcoholic either way. And yes, there is a small amount of alcohol produced along with the CO2 that makes bread dough rise, but it evaporates away in the oven as the bread bakes. When you finally remove the balloon from the jar you'll find a surprising amount of sediment on the bottom. This yeast poop is another byproduct of fermentation, and it is not tasty at all. So be sure to carefully separate the wine from the sediment. My family still had a milk cow in 1974, so I used one of the large paper filters for straining milk and folded it inside a funnel to carefully decant my wine into another clean jar. Screw on the cap and you’re ready to smuggle it out of the house for a party! A winery will age their new wine for months or even years to mellow the flavor and smooth the rough edges, but a teenager doesn't have that kind of time. The whole point is to have alcohol for tonight, so we drank it raw. And that's the way I remember it going down. My friends and I did our best to stomach that balloon wine, but it really wasn't very good. We finally settled on starting the party with some better stuff first. Homemade wine goes down a lot easier if you’re already buzzed. And this fact has also been rediscovered many times over the years. There's even a reference to serving the good wine first in the biblical story of the wedding at Cana. The steward didn’t know that Jesus had changed water into wine. He thought the miracle was serving good wine even though the buzzed wedding guests were ready for the cheap stuff. Author's note: ▼ |
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