A site of satirical musings, commentary and/or rhetorical criticism of the world at large.

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Location: Southeastern, Pennsylvania, United States

Saturday, September 22, 2018

Happy Autumn

Today the very hot, very humid, very hot summer of 2018 leaves us for good.

Autumn arrives tonight and the coming of my favorite season brings back some wonderful memories.  For example, there was the annual rite of getting into the car and driving upstate to see the autumn foliage.  Yes, the dazzling shades of yellow and orange certainly took the edge off the realization that the trees were going to sleep for a few months, even though it appeared that nature was dying in front of your eyes.  The road trip itself was spent listening to Dad whine/gripe/moan/groan about the price of a gallon of gasoline when gas was still below a dollar per gallon; Mom quietly enjoying her time away from housework, silently gazing at the shower of colors passing by the car window; and you with your sibling in the back seat trying your best to appreciate the drive even while hopelessly bored out of your minds…

Okay, so that memory wasn’t so uplifting.  How about this:

Going to your high school football game on Saturday night.  Your parents would drive because you weren’t old enough to go by yourself.  They would find good seats in the bleachers and curl up together with a plaid blanket Mom still owned from her own high school days.  Yet you could not bring yourself to sit with them.  For one thing it’s just not cool to be seen sitting with your parents and another thing those aluminum seats were just too goddamn hard on your ass.  So, you spent the entirety of the game walking around the track where you might find some of your friends to pal around with, or sight your teenage crush walking around with their friends.  Or you might stop for a moment at the edge of the field and actually watch some of the game where you could see the quarterback get blitzed in a tackle so spectacularly that he would need to be carried off the field on a stretcher.  His parents would have to abandon their goddamn rock-hard aluminum bleacher seats to take the pride of their loins to the nearest emergency room and…

Oh!   Still not feeling warm and fuzzy about autumn yet?   Well, how about this old memory…

Spending a weekend afternoon bent over a rake as you gather up the brown, dried, crinkly leaves in your backyard.  You pile them up thinking you’ll take a break and with a running jump, dive into the pile and scatter the leaves all over Kingdom Come again.  Yet as you finish your chore you feel the sharp pain in your back, reminding you that you aren’t up to making that grand running jump and dive and hinting that there is an arthritic condition in your future.  So, you take out a match, light it up and toss it on the pile.  The resulting fire turns the leaves into ashes with every snap and crackle of the flames.   You stay and watch the fire, your thoughts lost in its small grandeur even as the toxic fumes of the smoke rise up to your face.  You breathe deep this gathering fume allowing you to embark on a future of respiratory issues and heart ailments in addition to the arthritic creaking in your back…

Okay, so try as we might we can’t find a happy memory of autumns past.  Perhaps we could find it in a song.  Alas, I know of no autumn song which instills a sense of satisfaction, let alone happiness.   There is this hauntingly beautiful melody which may sound melancholy, but also cathartic.  After all we should all be able to relate to this singer’s lament of a love lost, I kid you not, to a Martian invasion.

Anyway, Happy Autumn everyone!

(Thank you for reading.  Remember winter is not too far being and it is a season best served frozen!)

Sunday, September 16, 2018

Sing, Birdies, Sing!

I must confess to at least one moment of insanity within the last few weeks.  As we witness the Republican Party’s lurch towards new found areas of right-wing territory, I blurted out loud something akin to liberal heresy.

I said, out loud in the presence of Warrior Queen that, given the current state of American politics how much I miss Ronald Reagan.  His policies suddenly appear to be so…sane compared to what we have now.  I can only attribute Warrior Queen’s arthritic condition prevented her from throwing me bodily out of our house.

I know, sacrilege, but that is how I saw things on that day.

Now, however, there is a renewed hope in my outlook.  This past week the President’s campaign manager, Paul Manafort, struck a plea deal in exchange for information that the Mueller investigation presumably does not have regarding the President’s campaign ties to Russia.  He and several other former advisers have also struck deals to cooperate with the independent counsel.
Liberals everywhere are salivating at the information they possess.  Of course, the most balanced and mature legal minds are not speculating about what information they will give to Mueller.  Secretly, everyone is expecting all of them to sing like birds.

To that end, we dedicate this song to those of the President’s men who have sought legal shelter in plea deals. 

Please enjoy…

(Thank you for reading.  The editors and management of Arteejee offer our deepest sympathies if the reader allows this song to become an earworm.)

Sunday, September 09, 2018

Clue ® White House Edition

For American liberals, Christmas came early this year.  This past week, legendary Washington Post journalist Bob Woodward published his tell all about the President’s administration, entitled Fear.  The next day, The New York Times posted an anonymous op-ed claiming to be written by a high-ranking official in the White House.  

The op-ed explained that there are a number of people in the West Wing doing their best to keep the President’s impulsive executive actions in check.  This should be the job of others in our government (yes, we’re looking at you, US Congress), but no matter.  We can now take comfort in the fact that, as the op-ed stated, “there are adults in the room” making sure the President's actions do not endanger the republic.

What can we say, but, “Thank you, Santa!”

The book and op-ed were followed shortly by reports that those inside the Beltway were trying to guess the identity of the op-ed author as if it were a parlor game.  Really?  A parlor game?  This bit of information gives me another chance to be grateful that these folks inside the Beltway have nothing better to do than, oh say, RUN A COUNTRY?

No matter.  We’ll play along with this line of thinking and suggest that they revive the old Clue board game.  Many of us may remember that the object of the game is to solve a murder mystery at a British country estate.  Players are one of several British aristocracy stereotypes (Mrs. White, Colonel Mustard, Miss Scarlett, Mr. Green, etc.) as they try to determine which one of them murdered the estate’s owner, Mr. Boddy.  They also have to deduce the location of the crime (living room, dining room, kitchen, ballroom, conservatory, etc.) as well as the weapon used: knife, revolver, rope, wrench, candlestick, etc.

For the White House edition, players can solve who killed the current presidential administration.  The suspects could include:

Robert Mueller (or any other Department of Justice functionary)

Bob Woodward (or any other member of the media)

Rudy Giuliani (or any other lawyer identified as representing the President)

Kellyanne Conway (or any other spokesperson for the President)

John Kelly (or any other member of the President’s staff and potential resistance member)

Or Mr./Ms./Mrs. X: namely any other player yet to be named as a co-conspirator, legal official, spokesperson for the administration or media pundit.

Since the “victim” is not a person per se, then we won’t need the traditional, tangible forms of murder weapon to do the deed.   For example, Bob Woodward could kill the administration in the West Wing with The Washington Post.  

Robert Mueller could do the deed in the (law) library with a subpoena.   Or any member of Congress ends this presidency with an Article of Impeachment in the House.  (This last one is considered a long shot at this time.)

Or, what the hell, the President himself could commit political suicide in the bedroom with Twitter.  He is really such a loose cannon on social media that it is only a matter of time before he trips up on social media and implicates himself in some treasonous act.  Oh, wait, he has already done that a few times and everyone just shrugged their shoulders.  Never mind…

Of course, the ideal scenario for ending this current administration would be done by the American Electorate in the voting booth with their vote.

Once again this is considered a long shot at this time…

In any event, Americans have created this mess and we now have no choice but to see this game through to the bitter end.   It doesn’t matter which scenario plays out. We can assume that it won’t be pretty.

(Thank you for reading.  Is it November 6th yet?)