Hollywood's Walk of Shame

These guys are why women watch reruns of "Grey's Anatomy."

I'm so gullible that, until recently, I thought the Oscars went to the best people in each category, in the opinion of their fellow actors, directors, producers, film editors and other voting members of the American Motion Picture Academy. But then this week a new rule starting with next year's awards was announced: Voters must see all the movies nominated. Uh, excuse me -- what the heck have they been doing until now? I guess voting for their friends and those who promised them something in return. Now I've come to find out that having a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame is basically the same sort of scam.

After reading that Ellen Pompeo, that middling actress in Grey's Anatomy who's been playing doctor for 21 seasons (after all the talented people left) just got a star, I slapped my forehead in disbelief and went digging. The process goes like this: You have to be nominated, and then fill out an application form, and then pay $85,000* not counting the application fee. Each year there are between 200 and 300 candidates and 30 are chosen. 

Ms. Pompeo never did it for me. I was an on-and-off fan of the soap opera, in which she plays the "Grey" of the title, for four or five years, tuning in for Sandra Oh's outstanding performances and all the really good-looking male actors. (See photo.) I wonder if any of them have stars.

*The fee shouldn't be much of a problem for Ms. Pompeo, currently the world's highest-paid actress. I guess it pays to show up on time.

Series Review: GOOD AMERICAN FAMILY

Just so you know, I lasted 21 of the 59 minutes of Episode 1 of this new series on Hulu before I blew the raspberry and switched to a rerun of Raiders of the Lost Ark, which by the way is still great all these years later. And Harrison Ford was so young! Anyway, back to business....

Would you adopt this person?

Starring Ellen Pompeo of Grey's Anatomy and Mark Duplass from The Morning Show, I expected better. Instead they both disappointed from the opening moment. Ms. Pompeo looked like she had taken too much anxiety medication, not to mention being severely puffy-faced, and Mr. Duplass seemed to be lost in thoughts unrelated to the script, possibly thinking he might need a new agent.

The plot involves the two of them as an unhappily married couple who adopt a 7-year-old girl with dwarfism, sight unseen, because they want so much to add a girl to their family of three boys, one with autism, despite hardly being able to pay their bills already. The "girl" they adopt turns out to be some sort of monstrous liar, not a child after all, and very, very creepy.

Flash forward: The show opens with Ms. Pompeo, now a published author on parenting, being arrested for child abuse, with her shouting to the cops as they cuff her, "The bitch tried to kill me!" That was enough for me -- I guessed who the bitch was (see photo) and opted never to see her again.

Woke Killed Funny

Yesterday's post received a negative comment from a woman, an obvious Trump-hater, who called my defense of his wearing a blue jacket to the Pope's funeral "laughable." I wrote back and thanked her, saying it was supposed to be laughable as I write a humor column. These days humor is all I've got left. Can you blame me, considering the following? 

1. I've lost all respect for our so-called leaders, especially after hearing just this morning that Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, the Latino ditz who runs around on stages like Mick Jagger and shoots off her big mouth about nonsense, is the Dem's great hope for a presidential run in 2028.

2. I've lost my faith in humanity in light of so many random school shootings and murders, especially when the murderers are made into heroes by, yup, you guessed it, the Democrats. ("Luigi, I love you!") 

3. I've lost my faith in the media after learning that all of them covered up Joe Biden's dementia during his term in office as the President of the United States.

4. I've lost my respect for the medical community after various doctors have been clueless as to what's wrong with me when I've gone to them with a complaint that is easily explained on Google.

So, humor is what's left. But even that is being stolen from me as the things that were once seen as funny when I was younger are no longer allowed to be funny today. Like this joke: A black man walks into a bar and the bartender says to him, "Get out!" Ten or 15 years ago, that got a big laugh.

Anyway, this post is meant to be funny but as you can see, it isn't. You can thank the Democrats.

The Pope Is Dead, What Should I Wear?

Can you spot the blue suit? (Hint: It's not as bright as Monica's blue dress.)

The Pope died seven days ago and since then his body has been carted around in a circus of activities, ending with his funeral service in a fantabulous cathedral in Rome where many heads of state were in attendance, including President Trump. Alas, Trump got no credit for interrupting his busy schedule here at home to fly across the Atlantic and pay respects to a dead man -- at least not from the editors at The New York Times, that once-respected news organization that is now little more than a printed version of the tabloid website TMZ.

Instead they took the somber occasion to mock him since that's what keeps them in business, writing that Trump's blue suit (instead of a black one) was a signal to the world that America sucks. And since his suit was a very dark blue, they opted to colorize it online and turn it into neon blue, just one more example of how they lie to their readers who lap up Democratic propaganda like a kitty cat laps heavy cream.

FYI, Prince William also wore a blue suit, and the Ukrainian President appeared in his usual combat-style outfit. Too bad John Fetterman wasn't in attendance, just to show them all what being your own person looks like. I'm sure the Pope, being not only dead but inside a wooden box, would not have minded at all.

Stayin' Alive

I read a tragic news story this morning about a woman who was out hiking with her husband and three young children, lost her footing and fell over a cliff to her death 75 feet below. Now there's a nice childhood memory for those kids, right?.

Hold on, lest you judge me too harshly. I spent quite a long bit of time mourning that woman's sad story, so don't think I take it lightly. Still, so many questions come to mind:

Was she on a cliff edge but not watching where she placed her feet? How else could she have fallen? 

Did she get a sudden cramp and move sharply and lose her concentration? 

If the trail was that treacherous, who was watching her kids?

Alpine hikers, like mountain climbers, seem to thrive on the danger lurking just a distraction away. You can feel sorry for them when they die, but still think -- to yourself of course -- that they should have been more careful. I personally think an important part of being a "Mom" is doing your best to stay alive and well long enough to fulfill the duties of the job.

Kristi Must Go

I lived in Washington DC for 30 years and experienced all sorts of crimes firsthand, including getting mugged and having my car(s) stolen. But I've never had my purse spirited away from under my seat at a table in a restaurant. In fact, that's never happened to me anywhere, including in poor cities like Port-au-Prince, Haiti and known pickpocket havens like Barcelona and Paris.

I also have never had personal security guards watching out for me. So please explain how Kristi Noem, the Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security, had her purse stolen from her in a DC restaurant, with security detail all around. And why she had $3,000 in cash and her passport in that bag. Was she planning to flee the country right after dinner?

Lastly, explain why someone in her position looks and dresses like a high-class call girl, or maybe a Playmate of the Month. Does she think her false eyelashes, Lady Godiva hair and big earrings help keep America safe?

Note to Donald: Fire her before we are invaded by a foreign country.

TV Series Review: ADOLESCENCE

Actor Stephen Graham as Eddie, the boy's father.

If you know anything at all about pop culture you know that the TV show to watch right now is the four-episode British series, Adolescence. Released last month on Netflix, it's all the rage. It's also all about rage, so if dark and depressing aren't your thing, steer clear. But if you are currently the parent of a teen, or are considering having a child ever, or thrill at seeing fabulous acting that will literally blow you away, watch it today.

By now most people with heads know the story, so I won't waste many words on the plot. Based on an actual incident that happened in England several years ago, it concerns the murder of a young girl named Katie by her 13-year-old classmate, Jamie. Did he do it? Jamie professes he did not, while the audience learns the truth early on. The rest of the time we witness the horror caused by the shocking deed as it devastates the boy's family, his classmates and an entire small community.

An uncredited role is played by the Internet, which ultimately is the true murderer, not only of Katie but of youthful innocence, the happy times of childhood and the hope for a bright future. Online bullying, sexting of nude photos, the hidden meaning of emojis and the impossible cruelty of adolescents are brought to light in several hideous ways. 

It's best to keep the subtitles turned on as the Liverpool accents are difficult to understand. What's easy to understand are the many tears shed -- so convincingly that you will undoubtedly shed a few of your own. Jamie (Owen Cooper in his film debut) is by turns adorable, frightened, foul-mouthed and terrifying, bordering on psychotic. All of the actors are outstanding, but surely Stephen Graham as his father raises the bar, giving a wrenching performance so realistically searing that it demands a second viewing.

Moral of the Story: If you have a teenager, remove the door from their bedroom, check their cell phones daily and throw out all household computers.

The Worst Person in America, Part 3

Joy Behar! Nobody can dispute it! Even though Facebook erased the post I wrote earlier today in which I described how horrid she is. 

Recently she said she would not donate a kidney to a friend who voted for Donald Trump. At 82, she spends most of her salary from The View on plastic surgery.

My iPhone Thinks I Pee in My Pants

Smart phones are not all that smart -- at least not these days. Like many post-baby boomers, they are getting dumber with each generation. One prime example is the fact that my iPhone is under the impression that I pee in my pants on a regular basis and need to wear diapers. This is not at all true, thank God!

Okay, so I'm 78 years old. But my bladder still functions as it always did, with nary a leak. I can still tell when I need to go to the bathroom, which I do whenever necessary. Yet every time I play Words With Friends, which I do often to stave off Alzheimer's, dementia and/or senility, all of which run rampant among my peers, I am bombarded with non-stop ads for an astounding number of brands of leak-proof underwear that supposedly will soak up urine and prevent me from embarrassment.

These ads show panties that look normal but have some sort of barrier that prevent unseemly accidents during my weekly MahJongg games, which I do not attend, or book club meetings, which again I don't attend, or golf games at the country club, which again, ditto. 

News flash for my phone: NOT ALL OLD LADIES PEE IN THEIR PANTS! And you can take that to the bank. So please stop sending these insulting ads and at least give me something I can use.

Black People Bring Back Racism

Black boy kills white boy for no reason other than hatred.

Growing up in the 60s, I didn't know any racists. My parents were hard-core Democrats who socialized with gays and blacks. I attended an integrated high school where several of the black students were among the most popular kids, holding class offices as well. After that, New York University in  downtown Manhattan was the ultimate melting pot. 

As an adult living and working in Washington, DC for 30 years I developed many close friendships with African Americans that began at work and expanded to our activities after hours. My closest (white) female friend of 20 years married a black man, and so he became a key person in my life. Skin color was never an issue.

I moved to Maine, the whitest state when I arrived 15 years ago, and now racism is as rampant here as it is across the country. I believe it all began with those ubiquitous Black Lives Matter signs that turned a lot of white people off, seeing as how the blacks were suddenly self-elevated to greater importance than everyone else. 

Black crime in America has intensified and goes unpunished in many cases. (The elephant in the room is the fact that young blacks commit way more crime than whites.) The latest breach of acceptable civilized behavior involves a black teenager who stabbed a white teenager (see photos above) for no reason, yet his unrepentant parents started a GoFundMe page to cover their legal fees. This audacious step caused many white people to bristle at their arrogant insistence that their son, guilty of murder, is innocent and deserving of sympathy, which oddly enough he has received from the black community. Meanwhile, rumors abound that they are spending the donations -- half a million dollars at last count -- on fancy cars, a new home and other personal perks.

The Race War in America heats up daily, and I am now clearly on the side of the Whites. I think that if my best friend married a black man in today's climate, I would stop seeing both of them.

Political Correctness Update

A group of pigs feasting. 

It's so hard to keep up with what's allowed and what's not. Apparently you can no longer accuse Americans of being piggish, despite mounting evidence to the contrary. I concluded this after reading my edited letter to the editor in today's Wall Street Journal, which was "cleaned up" by the editorial staff. Following is my original letter:

"While l appreciated writer Kyle Smith's censuring of thoughtless theatergoers who munch and crunch during a dramatic performance ("Snacks Are for After the Curtain Call," Opinion, Apr. 14), I fear his ire is misdirected. Let's face it, American have endless appetites and would eat a hot dog, taco or gyro if food trucks were allowed at funerals. So why do theatre-owners, who already rake in average ticket prices in the hundreds, even offer food and drink to audience members? Nobody will die if they don't eat for two and a half hours. And besides, there's always intermission -- let them pig out then!"

The version that appeared in the paper changed the last line to, "And besides, there's always intermission. Let them feast then."

Now, feasting is very different from pigging out. Feasting takes place seated at a big table at Thanksgiving and Christmas and at weddings and bar mitzvahs and in novels by Charles Dickens and the Bronte sisters. It features groaning boards and pitchers of ale. Pigging out is more like what people do these days, usually involving chips or hot dogs or tacos or pizza, often while sitting on a couch in front of a TV or at a ball game, or even a play. 

But apparently "pigging out" is offensive in these politically correct times, when every street corner in our little Maine town has a sign suggesting we all "Be Nice." So don't say "pig out" anymore lest you incur the wrath of the Democrats, who as we all know are so very, very nice.

Dumb Celebrities, Episode 1: Gayle King

This is the first in an ongoing series.

Gayle King, a.k.a. Oprah Winfrey's best friend, is famous for being Oprah Winfrey's best friend. She has used this to great advantage, like getting a small role in the movie The Color Purple, which starred Oprah Winfrey, and becoming an editor of O Magazine, the magazine of Oprah Winfrey.

Earlier this week King was one of six women who got to wear matching designer jumpsuits that mimicked astronaut suits (see photo) and go for a 10-minute ride into what is being called "outer space," even though it wasn't really all that outer, being just over the line of the Earth's atmosphere. The ladies, all wearing earrings which you never see on astronauts, posed for a lot of photos and thought they were really hot shit. Which they weren't, as the world let them know soon enough.

Upset at the criticism she and her co-passengers received, due to the exorbitant expense of the rocket ride to nowhere paid for by Jeff Bezos, a very rich man with money to burn, and to the fact that the moronic stunt accomplished nothing, Ms. King has complained bitterly that people did not understand how important their space ride was. "What you're doing in space is trying to make things better here on Earth," she said on some morning TV show the next day.

The ladies on the rocket ride did nothing of the sort. Singer Katy Perry was one of them and she sang a song while on the ride. The other thing they all did was experience weightlessness, something I do every time I swim in the pool at my local Y.

Gayle King is truly a dumb celebrity.

Comparing Two Billionaires

At 53, Elon Musk is the richest man in the world. Jeff Bezos is the second-richest man in the world. It's interesting to see how the two handle their fortunes.

Elon Musk and his son, X.

Musk uses his money for the betterment of all. As the force behind DOGE, the newly-formed agency tasked with rooting out waste, fraud and abuse from our government, he has saved the average taxpayer $938.61 so far. He founded SpaceX in 2002 with the goal of reducing space launch costs and enabling the colonization of Mars. The company has achieved significant milestones, including the development of reusable rockets and successful missions to the International Space Station. 

Most recently he sent a rocket to the International Space Station to rescue two stranded American astronauts who were there for almost nine months and whom our government under Joe Biden chose to ignore. His Tesla, the first modern electric car, continues to drastically cut our air pollution created by traditional gas-powered vehicles. Basically, Musk is committed to doing as much as he possibly can to protect and improve the future of mankind.

Bezos and fiancee Lauren Sanchez.

Bezos, on the other hand, is a self-serving clown who wants nothing more than to bask in the spotlight of fame and flaunt his fortune. The 61-year-old founder of Amazon, which is certainly a good thing, has since done little of benefit for anyone but himself. First he purchased The Washington Post, a liberal rag so slanted you have to bend over to read it, and so what. 

His latest stunt this very week was to send his sexpot fiancee and five other "celebrity" women untrained for the job to "outer space" for an undeclared amount of money, but use your imagination. The cost of the ladies' matching designer flight suits alone likely could feed the inhabitants of a small African nation for a year. This space ride did nothing for anyone except for the riders, who, besides a new blue jumpsuit,  got to "experience weightlessness" for ten whole minutes. But it made the narcissistic Bezos front-page news for at least a few days.

So I ask you, which billionaire brings more shame to America?

Genetically Speaking

My father died of colon cancer when I was 40 years old and pregnant. His doctors told me that as soon as I gave birth I should schedule a colonoscopy and have one every four years after that, since colon cancer can be hereditary. They also suggested I eat plain popcorn daily, and vegetables like broccoli and cauliflower which "act as Brillo pads in the colon," keeping it sparkling clean. Since 1988 I have undergone ten colonoscopies, consumed lots of popcorn and about a million servings of broccoli and cauliflower, and have avoided getting colon cancer.

My mother died when she was 62 as a result of early onset Alzheimer's. Her doctors told me I should do daily crossword puzzles and learn new things to exercise my brain since her disease can be hereditary. I am now too old to get early anything, but I still do a crossword puzzle every day, except on foreign vacations or while deathly ill. Had I done one every day since she died it would have added up to 16,060 puzzles. Since I have traveled abroad often and have been deathly ill  a couple of times, I haven't done that many. But it's part of my morning routine, along with drinking coffee and scooping my cat's litter box.

I'm 78 now and have grown weary of having colonoscopies and doing crossword puzzles. Occasionally I wonder what will get me in the end and what I should have been doing all along to avoid that.

Update On Girl Scout Cookies

Last week our son arrived with two boxes of Girl Scout cookies, hoping to cheer us up as both my husband and myself were down with a nasty strain of bronchitis. He had chosen our two favorites from the past: Thin Mints for his dad and Peanut Butter Sandwiches for me.

My thoughts exactly!

Mitch reported that his cookies were "as good as ever." He recommends sucking the mint icing off, "being very careful to keep  it flat on your tongue and leaving the chocolate wafer intact. Then you get to eat the cookie itself. It's fun," he said, adding "you can also eat all of it at once and then it's crispy, chocolatey and minty." 

As for the Peanut Butter Sandwiches, which years ago were very peanut buttery and satisfying, I took one bite and spit it out. Then, thinking that perhaps I had rushed to judgment, I took another bite but had to spit that out too. It was hard and tasted what I imagine how a piece of cardboard or a bit of a tree branch tastes. Either way, certainly nothing edible. I gave one to Mitch who basically likes any and all foods regardless of quality (except cottage cheese) and he agreed, declaring "Ugh." I trashed the box.

FYI: In March of 2025, the Girl Scouts of the United States were being sued over dangerous heavy metals and glyphosate found in the cookies, which currently cost $6.00 per box. Hey, I don't even use Roundup* on my lawn, I definitely don't want to eat it in a cookie.

* Glyphosate is the pesticide marketed as Roundup.

Have A Woke Passover

Traditional seder plate

For 3,000 years, Jews all over the world have been preparing the same dinner to celebrate Passover, marking their escape from Egyptian enslavement. Passover starts this evening with a feast called a seder. Central to the dinner table is the symbolic seder plate, which has always held bitter herbs, a hard-boiled egg, a green vegetable, charoset (an apple and walnut paste) and a shank bone, each representing a crucial part of the Exodus story: The bitterness of life, the cycle of life, springtime and rebirth, the mortar that enslaved Israelites used in Egypt, and the sacrificial lamb offered to God.

This year we planned on using a modern guidebook, or Haggadah. Perhaps too modern, suggesting these additions to the sacred seder plate: a piece of fair trade chocolate demanding fair labor conditions in developing countries, pine cones calling out for criminal justice reform, an orange showing solidarity with the LGBTQ community, cashews to support the troops and bananas to stand with all refugees.

Oy vey, that is one ginormous seder plate, loaded as it is with all that woke shit. It would take up the whole table! But honestly it doesn't go far enough, excluding many worthy groups from salvation. So we are adding an extra leaf to our dining room table to accommodate a larger seder plate, complete with: 

Two or three Valium, acknowledging the struggle of addiction

A marshmallow Peep, for Christians who believe in the Easter Bunny

A caramel, for those stuck in wheelchairs

A carrot, showing solidarity with the myopic

A pea, for all the little people

Some stewed prunes, for the perennially constipated

A few macaroons, some sponge cake, several candied fruit slices and a chunk of chocolate, for the obese

May all peoples be free from enslavement!

Don't Shoot, I Have A Reese's!

 

Like many people the world over, my husband loves chocolate. He finds it delicious and comforting. And it's quite diverse, being available in so many different forms. You can bake it into a cake or cookie, suck on it, chew it or drink it. Chocolate candy melts on your fingers, offering the extra fun of licking it off. The only down side is that some people become addicted and eat too much of it. (Personally I find it cloying and it usually gives me a stomach ache.)

One positive use for chocolate has gone overlooked: If they gave all the soldiers candy bars instead of guns, wars would turn out much better. Deaths would be greatly reduced, what with all the soldiers busy licking their fingers instead of shooting strangers in the head. And forget PTSD -- returning vets would suffer from diabetes, which is at least treatable.

I suppose this is why Pete Hegseth is Secretary of Defense and not me.

The Height of Stupidity

Nail salon in a shopping mall in Charlotte, North Carolina.

Admit it -- humans are a strange species. Some are extremely brilliant and have invented amazing things, like electricity, penicillin, skyscrapers, the atom bomb, airplanes, anesthesia, space travel and this very computer on which I write these words. So it's hard to grasp how so many members of that same species can be so dumb. In fact, examples of human stupidity far surpass examples of their brilliance, which is sad. So much potential, and often cold hard cash, wasted! 

If my nails looked like this I'd rush to the ER.

A stronghold of the human being's muddled thinking can be found everywhere, across the country: the nail salon. Tucked into suburban strip malls and found on virtually every block in every major city, these businesses rake in millions annually by selling a service that anyone with two functioning hands can accomplish at home for very little cost, and without an appointment: a manicure.

A home manicure costs an average of about six bucks, depending on the cost of the nail polish used. Add another $1.50 for a nail file. That's it. And that same bottle will last for perhaps ten manicures! Whereas a "professional" manicure runs anywhere from $20 to $100, not including a tip for the "manicurist" who dips the little brush into the bottle of nail polish and applies it to the nail while muttering insults at the client under his or breath in a foreign language, often Korean or Vietnamese.

Women and gay men with money to burn have added to this ridiculous practice by painting their toes, called a pedicure. Having painted toes does nothing for anyone, not even the owner of the toes, yet prices for this silliness run from $30 to $180. But here's the best (worst) part: Manicures and pedicures are neither permanent nor long-lasting, so they must be repeated on a weekly or bi-weekly basis. And for what purpose? 

None.

Happy Birthday, Whatever That Means

Today is the birthday of a dear friend of mine who I met when I was about 12 or so, I can't remember. We were pals all through junior and senior high, then lost touch, then found each other on Facebook many years later and renewed our special relationship. I certainly wish her a "happy birthday," as is the custom. But what does that even mean?

My mother always said that she should be the one celebrated on my birthday since she went through nine months of hard labor and then many hours of really hard labor on that particular day. I agreed with her and so always gave her a small gift on my birthday, despite feeling entitled to all the big gifts and parties she piled on me, while nobody else congratulated her.

As for being the birthday girl, like my friend Melva is today, I'm not sure what saying "Happy Birthday" means. I wish for her to be happy every day, not just on the day she was born a million years ago, oops, not really, more like 79 -- which in our society is akin to a million years. (She looks 20 years younger, really.)

And what's with the gifts? Buy me something any day the spirit moves you, I always tell my husband and son. Send me flowers on a random Tuesday. Show your love all year long, not just on the day I escaped the abortionists and made it through the birth canal alive. I know, I know -- I'm wringing the joy out of the celebration. But still, think about it: What's so special about getting a year older, besides not dying yet? Why must we focus on our age so much? Are we trees? Historic buildings? Fighter jets?

One of my favorite questions: How would you act/feel if you didn't know your own age? My personal answer: A heckuva lot better! I'm only two months behind my friend, and I gotta say turning 79 sounds pretty sucky to me, although God, if you are reading this, I definitely want to, so don't try any funny business.

And Life Goes On....

I have been sick for the past 10 days, who knows with what. Bronchitis? The flu? One doctor said no pneumonia, another said yes pneumonia. Cough, cough, cough, hack, hack, hack -- all day and all night, enough to wake the dead, although none of them have shown up at my house. Anyway, to put it mildly I'm miserable, so when I read the headline on AOL , "Stanley Tucci's 6 Tips for Making Soup Are Life-Changing" I jumped on it, since right now changing my life sounds very appealing.

Sadly, the headline had over-promised, suggesting things I already do. So my life wasn't going to change after all. But at the end of the article it referenced another one entitled, coincidentally, "Ina Garten's 6 Tips for Making Soup Are Life-Changing." So then I clicked on that one right away, thinking who knew making soup could be so life-changing? Alas, it turned out that Ina's suggestions, like cooking the soup on simmer and using a Dutch oven, were also things I already do.

Damn those headline writers! I guess I'm stuck with this cold for a while. 

Live Well While You Can

New York City fashion designer Kenny Bonavitacola, dead at 71.

Go ahead and waste your precious life fighting with strangers online over things beyond your control, what do I care? Your life may be shorter than you can imagine, and if you choose to fritter it away by slinging insults into the global system of interconnected computer networks, go for it. But first listen to this story.

Two weeks ago a friend, age 71, complained of "not feeling well" and so went to see his doctor. The doctor ran several tests which resulted in a diagnosis of Stage-4 pancreatic cancer. After spending the next thirteen days in the hospital, Kenny died. You heard me -- just shy of two weeks from diagnosis to death for this wonderful and talented man who leaves behind scores of grieving friends and family members.

Imagine that's you. I know -- it sucks. So spend each day wisely. Spitting hateful invectives into the void does not qualify.

What Kind of Moron?

What kind of moron thinks that settling political differences in the United States, arguably the most sophisticated and powerful country in the world, should involve setting cars on fire, defacing cars, destroying car dealerships and protesting outside of those dealerships with handwritten signs accusing the maker of a particular car of being a Nazi, based on absolutely no evidence?

Sounds crazy, doesn't it? Especially when you consider that the very car being discredited, defaced and defamed is the same one that just a year ago was thought to be The Savior of the Planet and the MUST HAVE car of the century if you cared at all about the environment and the future of the planet's very existence, and if you called yourself a woke liberal.

In case you are slow, the kind of moron described above is a Democrat and the car in question is a Tesla and the maker of the car accused of being a Nazi is Elon Musk. Now we all know that Democrats have been stupid in many ways before this, like electing an elderly man with Alzheimer's as President and a dumb black woman as his Vice President, then denying that he's demented and she's totally unfit for the job.

Think about it. Are you a moron?

We Need A Vaccine for TDS

Lately I've been hearing about an uptick in pancreatic cancer, one of the worst kinds of cancer. It has stricken two of my friends, and several friends of another friend, causing speculation that it is the result of the Covid-19 vaccine. I'm not saying that's a fact, but some of those people received many Covid shots over the last three years. 

Like with most diseases, patients have no recourse but to do what their doctors advise, although research  reveals there is little consensus among the medical community. But at least there are treatment options available. That's not the case with another disease that is spreading wildly, ripping apart families and friendships: Trump Derangement Syndrome (TDS). 

Stage 4 TDS patients, ranting about Elon Musk.

What started as a jokey term for people who loved Trump beyond all reason has jumped over to those who hate him in the extreme, and turned into a veritable sickness. Now it's causing otherwise normal citizens to resort to violence for no good reason, like setting fire to Tesla dealerships, defacing Tesla automobiles parked on the street and in private driveways, and even confronting Tesla drivers face-to-face with evil intent.

A recently emerging symptom of TDS seems to be the delusional belief that Tesla's inventor, Elon Musk, is a crazed Nazi bent on world takeover who steals money from old people, wrecks our government and enriches his billionaire friends. This hogwash is based on nothing but Democrat groupthink aimed at ruining the presidency of Donald Trump, much as the Russian collusion hoax dominated his first term. 

If any of the stricken Democrats ever heard an interview with Mr. Musk they would know that he has nothing but good in his heart. Instead TDS has them foaming at the mouth and hearing voices, including those of Anderson Cooper, Nancy Pelosi, Senators Schumer and Sanders, nutcase Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, and those two old devils, Maisie Herono and Maxine Waters. 

I just hope they find a vaccine soon, before it's too late.
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