Thursday Walk o’ Shame
For years now I’ve said that any attempt to round up and deport undocumented aliens living in the USA would come down to cattle cars and concentration camps.
The Master Mind at Work
There’s just no way charity works here. Trump doesn’t know what he wants. He sees something on Fox News and starts thumbing away on his iPhone. Maybe he realizes he won’t live long enough to claim credit for going to Mars, and the air’s going out of his balloon. I think his enthusiasm for manned space missions in general, never mind missions to the Moon and Mars, is right up there with his enthusiasm for repairing the nation’s infrastructure, which he’s going to get to any day now. Right.
Times Like These, It’s Important to Feel Clean
Trump, in obstructing justice, can’t be held accountable for it because as we all know he’s unable to control his temper and autocratic instincts and can’t help lashing out. We elected an infant; therefore it’s okay when he behaves as one; therefore This Is Fine.
Tuesday Bag o’ Crossed Lines
Monday last I had to haul my miserable hacking feverish runny-nosed voiceless self home from Pima Air and Space Museum after the first tram tour of the day, leaving my co-volunteers in the lurch. I made up for it yesterday with four nearly back-to-back tours, one every other hour, from the first tour of the day to the last.
Glitch in the Matrix
Of course the real glitch in the matrix is Trump and the inescapable fact that a subset of the population thinks he’s the greatest. That subset includes former friends of ours, who couldn’t have shocked us more had they revealed themselves to be cannibals.
Hawk-a-a-a!
Social media, forsooth. Tell you what, I’m getting far more out of Instagram and Twitter these days than Facebook, which … with the exception of a few friends who still take the time to write actual newsy posts … features little more than lowest common denominator copy & paste crap.
Snow Day
The dogs took one look outside and decided the call of nature can wait. Now it’s a contest to see how long they can hold it.
A Night in the Fever Swamp (Updated & Clarified)
Rather than roll over and accept that some of our fellow humans, equipped with brains at least biologically similar to yours and mine, can smell smoke and think it means there’s an iceberg nearby, or listen to Trump’s third-grade schoolyard taunts and hear a fourth-dimensional chess master at work, I trust my own powers of observation.