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, January 25, 2014

Rainbow Connection

Sorry, I probably should have posted this last week, but the idea didn’t occur to me until later.

So I dedicate this to Meredith and all the love she gave us through the years.

(Thank you for watching.)

Wednesday, January 22, 2014



Once again, the state of the art agency known as the US Weather Service accurately predicts a weather disturbance with high confidence that they have adequately prepared all affected areas of the country to prepare accordingly. Hats off to you, US Weather Service, for a hard job well done!


Davis, who made a name for herself in the Texas legislature when she filibustered against Texas’ new abortion law, is the target of unflattering comments from pundits on Fox News and Rush Limbaugh. They are questioning her claims of being a single mom living in a trailer with a daughter. Apparently there is a state law, which no one has ever heard of, that mandates that a person can only count themselves as trailer trash after so many months, and apparently Davis didn’t meet this requirement when she lived in a trailer for “a few months”.

They are also saying not so nice things about her arrangement with her second husband who cashed in his 401(k) savings to assist her with law school tuition. Limbaugh has gone as far as to call the second husband a “sugar daddy” just because he helped her go to school. Wow, I never realized that enabling someone to get an education so they can better themselves was so demeaning!

Of course, if Davis had chosen an alternative means of financing her education (wink wink nudge nudge) then Limbaugh would be labeling her as a trollop and worse. This reminds me: hey Rush, how soon until the Limbaugh Live Co-ed Sex Show is up and running on a website near you?

Of course, all of these critics aren’t overlooking the most damning sin in Davis political aspirations: she’s a girl! Her critics wouldn’t dare raise these arguments against a guy.


Okay, so maybe this meteorology discipline is not always the exact science that it’s cracked up to be. This is okay, because human beings are flexible creatures who can adapt to any situation however much that situation may change within a matter of minutes. Besides, the US Weather Service is basically government work, and we all know how low the expectations are perceived for this sector of the American economy.


On the other hand, heterosexual pedophiles can party like its 1999! Oh, you don’t think Putin was implying that…?


Jose Crist! Can’t you people get your effin’ act together? First it’s three to six, which is an accumulation we can push without too much effort and strain on the ticker; then it’s six to ten, which means we may have to bend down and lift more than we can push or hire a couple of local teenagers eager to supplement their income from McDonald’s; and now you’re bumping up the totals to snow blower territory! Oh sure, blame it on the computer models which can’t agree on which way the storm will track. Just pick one and stick to it!


Huh? When did President Obama ever play the “race card”? I never realized that he engaged in such leisure time arts as card playing. And all this time I thought he relaxed with a round of one-on-one basketball with House Speaker John Boehner.

Seriously, what is the President’s game? Poker? Pinochle? Blackjack? Oh snap, that was a cheap shot!


Armageddon! Apocalypse! Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! The US Weather Service doesn’t know its lows and highs from a hole in the ground!

(Thank you for reading! Snow, snow go away! Come back again another #@%&# day!)

Friday, January 17, 2014

Her Name Was Meredith…

…but her first owner had named her Satan, which I should have known after our initial meeting at Kitty Cottage. The no-kill shelter was (at that time) located on Route 202 (or as the locals know it DeKalb Pike) in Whitpain Township, PA. We had gone there to adopt a kitty to fill the void in our lives left by Sydney’s departure six months before. As we browsed around the living quarters at several dozen candidates, I noticed Satan/Meredith curled up on a window sill basking in the sunshine of a late summer day.

I offered her my hand and she immediately raised her head and rubbed it against my fingers. We had bonded! Then she rose, climbed up several shelves of a bookcase that went to the ceiling and, along the way, made good on her name by knocking over a small vase which tumbled to the floor where it shattered into oblivion. Now I knew we had to take this troublemaker home, if only to save the other vases in the cottage.

Meredith came home with Kelly, an older male who was the original Grumpy Cat. Kelly was good to both Anne Marie and I, but he couldn’t be bothered playing with the mischievous female who shared his forever home. Meredith would run, jump, make a cooing sound when her feet hit the floor in a sprint and climb to all sorts of heights; Kelly was content just to be a quiet docile feline. If these two had been Marx Brothers, Meredith would definitely have been Harpo to Kelly’s Groucho persona.

One height Meredith liked to climb was the balustrade of our first floor stairwell. She would leap up there before making a nice single jump to the top of the couch three feet away, bounce off the top, a bounce off the couch seat, then land on the floor, and make a hop or two to the sun porch door ten feet away. Impossible for a mere human to do, but Meredith could do it over and over, making her cooing sound with every mark she hit.

Kelly left us too soon, but we brought home Steven (again from Kitty Cottage) who was much more agreeable to sharing his house with this very active female. The two became good friends chasing each other and grooming each other when one or the other’s hair got tousled the wrong way. As Steven’s health slowly declined over the course of two years, Meredith went through a stressful time. She responded to Steven’s health problems by tearing out the hair on her back and sides; she looked like a small lion with a mane reaching to the middle of her spine. 
We brought home Nyla (again from Kitty Cottage) when Steven departed. It took awhile (six weeks) for Meredith to get used to Nyla to the point where she could stay in the same room with her for longer than five minutes without hissing. The sisters grew close in time, engaging in social grooming when the need presented itself.

In time Meredith’s hair grew back and she continued to chase her sister, wreak havoc with bell ornaments on our Christmas tree, run upstairs and hide when strangers knocked on the door, and seek shelter whenever we crinkled newspaper. We surmised that her former owner may have smacked her a few times with the print media, and she associated the sound with a stinging posterior.

Meredith became Anne Marie’s cat. They had a morning routine with a few games including “hand monster”.  Anne Marie would move her hand beneath the bed covers and Meredith would obligingly leap on it to subdue it. Then there was ”gnaw and curl”. This time Anne Marie would grasp Meredith by the belly, and our fearless feline would try to kill this attacker by nipping on Anne Marie’s knuckles and violently push against her mommy’s wrist with her back legs.

We brought Meredith to her forever home as a nearly full grown adult. She lasted 13 years, surviving two male cats in the intervening time. In the last few months, she lost most of her weight. Her appetite was still good and she fought against whatever ailment forced her to slowly withdraw from her normal activities.

She left us on Wednesday, January 15. Our grief has been tempered with the knowledge that she is no longer in pain.

Dear Meredith, Mommy and Daddy will miss their first girl, but Nyla will take care of us. Until the day we see you again, run and jump wherever loving cats go to live out eternity.

Thank you for loving us as well as you did.

(Thank you for reading.)

Monday, January 13, 2014

Greetings from Ft. Lee, New Jersey

(EDITOR’S NOTE: Submitted for your approval, an angry letter from a New Jersey resident to his state’s leadership and our perception of how that leadership will respond.  Bon appetite!)

To Whom It May Concern:

I need to protest most vehemently about the awful traffic situation here in my hometown. Everyday normal traffic going into the city is absolutely insane. But then someone decided to block a few entrance lanes of the George Washington Bridge a few months ago and it caused absolute chaos! Rumor has it that someone in Trenton authorized this traffic deviation as part of a study. Is this true?

Mr. Richard Feder
Fort Lee, NJ


Dear Mr. Feder:

Thank you for your recent correspondence. I know normally you would receive a response from my trusted adviser, Roseanne Rosannadanna.   

Unfortunately, Ms. Rosannadanna went to that Great Newsroom in the Sky 25 years ago, but I will be more than happy to address your concerns in her place.

I will explain the massive screw-up that happened in your town in a moment, but first I need to bring your attention to a more fundamental problem: the fact that you are living in Fort Lee, NJ. Oh sure, it may be the gateway to the Empire State, but it is still Fort Lee, or (as my trusted advisers around the office refer to it) that stinkin’ hellhole of a Democratic enclave.

Can we talk? Your town is ruled by a guy that didn’t even support me in the last election! Now I’ve been knocking my brains out for the last four years making nice with the Democrats, shaking their greasy hands…hell, I even gave a freakin’ man hug to the President of the United States! And you don’t think I didn’t catch hell for that from my fellow conservatives? Not to mention that I felt dirty for days on end afterward…

Imagine, I go out of my way to act civil to the other side and shed my schoolyard bully image, and this is the thanks I get? Let’s be fair about this! What would you do if you were in my shoes?

Look Mr. Feder, I know you and the people of Fort Lee have suffered for your mayor’s sins, but hey, the guy dissed me! My people couldn’t let that go unanswered. I want to let you know that I had nothing to do with the so-called “traffic study” that someone in my office may have approved as an act of political retribution. And when I say I had nothing to do with it, I mean that none of the reporters who are poring over thousands of pages of documents have yet to find my name linked to your inconvenience. And when they do find my name, I mean if they find my name, rest assured that I will take drastic steps to point my finger at another member of my staff and make them fall on the sword for me.

Hey, let’s face it, your traffic issue was nothing more than that: an inconvenience, a minor interruption in your life. This can’t even begin to compare with your fellow New Jerseyians who lost everything to Superstorm Sandy. Now I have heard a story that the traffic snafu in your town last fall caused massive gridlock, which prevented emergency vehicles from transporting critically ill people to hospitals for treatment. I have heard that one of these people, a 91 year old woman, later died. While I sympathize with her family’s loss, I hasten to point out that this is something many 91 year olds do: they die! That doesn’t make it my fault, does it?

I cannot believe the whining I have had to listen to from you people in Fort Lee over this whole thing! It disgusts me! I haven’t been this repulsed since I was at a dinner party at Roger Ailes’ house a few years ago when Rush Limbaugh walked in.  And you know it was a very hot day, and Rush was wearing one of his polo shirts, but even that wasn’t cool enough for him that day. I mean he was sweating like a pig! And by pig, I mean his underarm sweat stains reached all the way down to his waist! And wouldn’t you know it, the last empty chair at the table was next to me! So Rush sits down and I could feel the moisture come through his sleeve and soak right through my clothes as he squeezed himself into his seat and up against my shoulder.

It made me sick! I stayed quiet for a few minutes, but finally I had to stand up and yell, “Yo Rush! Your sweat is making me sick! Why don’t go upstairs, take a cold shower and slip into a dry… 
Oh, sorry, I got off subject. We were talking about your little problem. Well, deal with it! Man up! Grow a pair! Suck it up!

Better yet, get your ass out of Fort Lee. God, I’m tired of you whiners!


Your Governor

(Thank you for reading. Posted in loving memory of Roseanne Rosannadanna, Lisa Loopner, Emily Litella, and especially Gilda Radner.   Ladies, we miss all of you!)

Thursday, January 09, 2014

Squashing Rumors

As a public service, arteejee dispels another batch of ugly rumors, which I am making up as I go along.

1.  Pundit and political office holder failure Sarah Palin will make a thorough and diligent search of all news sources (print and non-print media) every day to prep for her occasional commentary on Fox News.

2.  Duck Dynasty star Phil Robertson will release an album of his favorite songs, among them, “That’s Why Darkies Were Born.”*

3.  Political commentator Sarah Palin will glance at the major news sites on the Internet to understand what her Fox News viewership believes is the issue of the day.

4.  Rick Santorum will come out; gay community retches en masse.

5.  Once or twice a week, Sarah Palin will ask her husband, Todd, “Was’ up?”

6.  Soviet Premier Putin asserts his heterosexuality again by going shirtless in Red Square; straight and gay communities laugh their asses off en masse.

7.  The Gunther household will abandon Heinz ketchup as the chief house condiment in favor of its rival Hun…no, this is so ridiculous that I can’t even finish it.

8.  Duck Dynasty star Phil Robertson will accept the lead role in a local production of La Cage Aux Folles; gay community laughs their asses off en masse. 

9.  Rick Santorum will place first in a Carmen Miranda look-alike contest at a New Hope, PA bar. For the record: Phil Robertson will place second in this same competition; Sarah Palin will quit midway through before the winners are announced. (This one is also ridiculous, but I managed to complete it without vomiting!)

*This is not a racist comment. It is an actual show tune from George White’s Scandals (1930), which was viewed as a satire on racism. Artists such as Kate Smith and Paul Robeson recorded the song. So, go ahead, call Paul Robeson a racist for recording it! I dare you! See if I care!

(Thank you for reading! Oh for God’s sake, Sarah! Unfold a newspaper - any newspaper - and review the articles before you open your yap on any subject!)