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

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Location: Southeastern, Pennsylvania, United States

Thursday, March 31, 2016

Snort Bites – March 2016

(EDITOR'S NOTE:  The following news items were culled from the electronic pages of the world wide web so we can be afforded the opportunity to point and laugh.)


Some convention goers reasoned that they would want the protection afforded by their Smith and Wesson in the wild and wooly frontier town of Cleveland, where “evil-doers" could be lurking. 

No problem, ladies and gentlemen!   Just check off the appropriate box below certifying your evil-doer status, and you should have no trouble packing your piece in Cleveland this summer:

____ I am not an evil-doer.

____ I am an evil-doer, but on my honor and with crossed fingers behind my back, I swear that I will leave my guns at home.

In case anyone is wondering, we will confess here and now that the second statement is a trick question.

UPDATE:  The Secret Service has announced that they will not allow guns at the site of the Republican convention this year, citing some government regulations giving them the right to protect candidates who may be targets of…wait for it…evil-doers!  

Bummer!   The guvmint ruins everyone’s fun again.

Elsewhere on the campaign trail…


In a bid to maintain party unity last year (last September, in fact), the GOP had all of those persons declaring to run for the nomination (there were 17 of them at the time) sign a declaration that - no matter the eventual outcome of all the caucuses, primaries and convention - all of those running would support the one chosen to be the actual, final, by-God-that’s-the-one-running in the general election party nominee.

Well, we all know what happened next.  Through the process of what some would call natural selection, or primary losses, or just plain devoured by Governor Chris Christie - take your pick - the field was whittled down to three.  And all three of them are so pissed off at each other that they are all refusing to honor the pledge they signed last summer. 
I hate to say, “I told you so,” so I’ll say it this way:  BOOYA!  NAILED IT!

I always felt that Trump’s ego would not accept a loss at the convention if he were not chosen as the nominee.  True, he may have the votes going into the convention to clinch the honor, but a sizable number of influential Republican leaders are backing a party establishment movement to select someone else, anyone else besides Trump. The Donald is now feeling abused by the party and is said to be contemplating an independent run. 

My comment: Bull Moose.

As in the Bull Moose Party, created by Theodore Roosevelt when he was disillusioned by his chosen heir-apparent William Howard Taft’s performance during his term in the White House.  It was 1912 and Roosevelt ran a third party campaign to thwart Taft’s re-election. Roosevelt succeeded, but he also did not win back the White House.  That prize went to the Democrat, Woodrow Wilson.

And this year, the Republican Party establishment is very eager that history not repeat itself.



(EDITOR’S NOTE:  The remainder of this blog will have to be discontinued owing to the writer suffering an attack of severe indigestion brought on by an overdose of Donald Trump. There’s a lesson here for all of us.)

(Thank you for reading!  Let’s party like it's 1912!   Woo-hoo!)

Friday, March 25, 2016

God and Son, 2016: The Next Good Friday

And now another episode of…God and Son!

(Studio applause.)

Jesus: Good Morning, Father!

God: Good Morning Jesus!  Happy Good Friday!

Jesus:  Thanks!  Oh!  It’s Good Friday again?  Already?

God:  Yes, time once again when all my best plans are revealed to the world.  This is the day that I demonstrate the concept of everlasting life!  This is the great day when…why in my name are you moping?

Jesus:  Oh, I don’t know!   Could it have something to do with you getting all the glory…

God: Um, Jesus?

Jesus: …while my physical body experiences the searing pain of a billion sins…

God:  Jesus?

Jesus: …give or take a trillion!  What, Father? 

God: You don’t get to die this year!

Jesus: I don’t? 

God:  No, you just had to do it once.

Jesus:  Just once!

God:  Yes!  Just one time so the historians could note it in their books.  Today, thousands of your followers will re-enact your most famous, selfless act in your honor.

Jesus:  My followers.   The Christians!

God: You’re moping again!  What now?

Jesus: It’s my followers!  Many of them are being killed off, and many more are planning revenge on those that are killing their brothers.

God: Okay, go on.

Jesus:  Well, taking revenge for example.  Not forgiving their enemies!  Not forgiving those that trespass against them.  And disregarding all that other noble stuff about peace and good will to men.   That’s not what I preached!  

God: Wow, Jesus!  Now I feel like moping!

Jesus:   Sorry, Father.  I don’t get it.  They all assemble in your glory, study my every syllable, every word, then go forth and regard those that are not like them as lower than themselves.  They all leave their churches, their synagogues, and their mosques, and listen to their flesh and blood hatemongers.  They just plot to destroy each other.  It’s like they’re not listening to me…or to you!

God: I know.  That’s why we need faith.

Jesus: (with a heavy sigh) Oh, here comes the eff word again!

God:  Yes, the eff word again.  I know what you say seems to be true.  I’ve seen the same things you see.  But I refuse to believe that these people trying to destroy themselves with their own fear and hatred are truly our children.

Jesus: Our children?

God: Yes. My children, your children, all of our children.  The Jews, the Muslims…

Jesus:  My Christians?

God:  Your Christians indeed!   Our Christians!

Jesus:  Whatever!   It’s like their missing something!   Their studying my work, but 
something is not sinking in.

God:  They’re not getting the memo.

Jesus: Huh?   What’s a memo?

God: Oh, it’s usually a short, important message that they all need to make their lives better, happier!  They hear your words, my glory, but they don’t fully comprehend!   Believe me all of our children and their work to make the world a better place are all works in progress.

Jesus:  Works in progress, eh?

God:  Yes, you can trust me on this!   Have faith in me on this one!

Jesus:  Ohh, there’s that eff word again!

God:  Yes, it will take a lot of trust and faith for all of the children to see this through.  But there will be a lot of turmoil until it’s all over.

Jesus:  Turmoil?

God:  Yes, suffering, pain!   It wouldn’t surprise me if there is a fair amount of Shakespearean lightning and thunder!

Jesus: Shakespearean?

God: What’s wrong with Shakespeare?

Jesus:   Oh, nothing.   I’m just a bit partial to Beckett, myself.

God:  Jesus!  We can’t play favorites!  They should all be equal in our and their eyes.

Jesus: But they’re works in progress.

God: Yes, works progressing towards a greater achievement.  A greater glory!

(Shakespearean lighting and thunder.)

Jesus:  Ah, the dramatic effect at last!

God:  Yes, drama!   Talk about fear!  That’ll put the fear of me in them!

Jesus:  Sweet me!

(Footsteps of a Roman soldiers heard coming in the distance.)

Centurion:  Jesus of Nazareth?  I place you under arrest in the name of the Emperor!

Jesus:  Father?   I thought you said I wouldn’t have to go through this again?

God:  Hmmm…the Romans must not have gotten the memo.

Centurion:  Jesus of Nazareth!  Come with us!

Jesus: Yes, yes.  I’m coming!  I know the drill!   Arrest, trial, torture, lugging that huge piece of crossed beams up the hill, nails in the wrists and feet, breathing my last in hell and high water, and vultures, then laying in a cave for three days without so much as a matzoh ball…

God:  Na, na, na, na!  I can’t hear you!

(Studio applause up and fade.)

(Thank you for reading.  This attempt at satire should not be construed as blasphemy, but those holier than us will damn us anyway!  So whoopee!)

Wednesday, March 16, 2016

The Trump Egoectomy

(We now join a press conference in progress from the Tip O’Neill Institute of Moderate Political Progress…)

Dr. Gollywog:  “…all this confusion and misperceptions about the candidates in this primary season are not doing our beloved democracy any good.   And the misperception is on both sides.

“Take Bernie Sanders, running for the Democratic nomination.  His opponents are painting him as a card-carrying communist.   While his ideas for America may carry the country further towards socialistic governance, it is very doubtful that he, being only one man, will instantly remake America into a socialist country.  He would have to contend with and pass everything through Congress.  And we’ve all seen how effective that branch of our government has been during the last seven years."

Press: (collective chuckle from the assemblage of journalists).

Gollywog:  "Which is why we shouldn’t fear that Sanders, if elected, that all Americans will be required to own Chairman Mao’s Little Red Book.   Yes, you have a question Mr. Crit?"

Rhett Crit:  "Yes, with Breitbart News…"

Gollywog: (raising an eyebrow): "Breitbart, Mr. Crit?"

Crit:  "Yeah, what can I say?  They had a few openings. Anyway, would you make the same case for Donald Trump?"

Gollywog:  "Ah, yes, the Donald.  (Sigh.)  America’s problem child!  Yes, we can see misperceptions about the Donald."

Press: (collective gasp from the crowd).

Gollywog:  "I know, I know what you’re thinking!  He has presented himself as a xenophobic, racist, serial liar who refuses to take responsibility for his incendiary rhetoric.  Let’s quickly review that he has voiced a desire to send undesirables back to Mexico and force that sovereign nation to build a wall without actually conquering the country first; he wants to deny Muslims the right to enter our borders simply based on the actions of a relatively small number of violent extremists; and he wants to endanger your own profession, ladies and gentlemen of the press by loosening libel laws in this country."

Press: Rhubarb, rhubarb! (and other terms of collective murmuring from the crowd).

Gollywog:  "We should also note that his rhetoric is openly encouraging his supporters to acts of violence against those with a contrary point of view.  Both sides are simply exercising their First Amendment rights, yet the protesters opposing The Donald’s point of view are being declared the problem.

"Then, even as the violence rises, we see opposing forces aligning against Trump.  The Republican Party establishment is trying to mount a counter movement which could deny Trump the nomination for President.  Then also there are the denunciations of the violence from Trump's fellow nominees, Rubio and Kasich.  Then also the most damaging evidence of that entire Trump is being misperceived by his opponents.

"In recent days, a prominent American has come out doubting that the campaign trail Trump is not the true Trump, not the Trump she knows.  This person has stated that she knows Trump to be delightful and charming to be with.  Witness also a photograph of her with Trump which has been making the rounds of the Internet.  In the photo she and Trump are standing next to each other and smiling.  Of course it’s an old photo when she was First Lady…"
Press:  (aghast murmuring).

Crit:  "No, not Hillary?"

Gollywog:  "Yes, Trump’s potential political foe, Hillary Clinton.   Why would a political enemy of the Donald, who is competing for the same job, say such a thing unless she actually believed it to be true?

Faced with these realities of our current political landscape we have few options to deal with this problem.   We, progressive thinking Americans of all stripes, can wring our hands over and over for the next seven months and mutter, “Trump, what an asshole, what a jerk!”  

Press:  "Asshole!  Jerk!  Rhubarb!"

Gollywog:  "Or, we can deal with the problem of the Trump scientifically.  At least one set of pundits* has suggested that the Trump we see on the political stump is more ego than the actual person.  And this makes sense for at least one reason; how could The Donald be so successful as a salesman and entrepreneur with such a condescending, hateful attitude towards potential customers?  A racist attitude would certainly reduce the size of his market and in the end be self-defeating.  It is for this reason, with the future of American democracy at stake, that we are proposing a radical surgical procedure for Donald Trump: total egoectomy.

Crit: "Removal of his ego?  Will this help?"

Gollywog:  "Actually it’s such a new procedure we don’t have any evidence of its advantages, but it is hoped that the results will yield a new Trump, a lovable, cuddly, teddy bear of a man who will walk the streets of Calcutta ministering to the poor and downtrodden of the world."

Crit: "I’m having a hard time picturing your vision of Trump."

Gollywog:  "That’s the liberal in you talking, Crit."

Crit:  "What about potential side effects?"

Gollywog:  "Well, yes there could be negative results.  For instance, if Trump proves to be more ego than actual human, then the operation could result in Mr. Trump's lapse into a vegetative state for the rest of his life."

Crit:  "Is there also a chance he could die?

Gollywog: "Yes, there is that possibility, but given his efforts to degrade our political system into mob rule, we don’t necessarily see that as a downside.

Press: "Rhubarb!  Rhubarb!  Rhubarb!"

Crit:  "Aww, parsnips!"

Gollywog:   "Parsnips?   Why parsnips, Mr. Crit?"

Crit: "Because I’m tired of saying rhubarb!"

*Morning Joe, MSNBC, 3/14/16.

(Thank you for reading!  Remember, folks, satire, satire, satire!)

Friday, March 11, 2016

Cold Without End

“I have gotten much done with my knitting today,” Warrior Queen mused as she sat next to my gurney in an emergency room stall at Einstein Montgomery yesterday.

I noted her observation in between scenes of Family Guy broadcast on the flat screen tv in my room.   I then took stock of “my situation” this day.

Back story to my situation: the cold contracted during my February vacation, which later morphed into pneumonia is now just bronchitis.  The condition gives me uncontrollable spasms of dry coughing with an occasional phlegm discharge.  My ongoing physical complaint has led to at least four visits to the local clinic, three courses of antibiotics, a few courses of steroids for the inflammation of my bronchial tubes, and my using up the rest of my paid time off days for the year.  I’m grateful I had them in reserve (I’ll get a fresh batch of allotted time off next month on the anniversary of my hiring), but I wish I didn’t have to use them for illness.  In total, I have been home bound due to illness for the better part of three weeks.

So I consider this and the events of this day when I returned to the clinic for a follow up.  The doctor there listened to my lungs again, ordered the second chest x-ray, and did not like what he heard.  He had hoped that the steroids he’d given me two days before would have cleared up my lungs more than he was now hearing.  He mentioned that my congestion could be more related to my heart condition and he recommended I go to the nearest emergency room where, if they determined it was necessary, give me a CT scan for my chest.  He also mentioned the possibility that I might end up being admitted depending on the results of the scan.

Fine, and I thought (with tongue firmly planted in my cheek), “My day was getting better!”

The doctor called the emergency room ahead so they might expect me, and I guess there was an understanding that I would go there directly. Sorry, doc, but I had to make a detour home.  For one, I needed to call into work, as I had also hoped the steroids would do more than they had, and I would go to work directly from the clinic.  No such luck this day.

I also called Warrior Queen at work to let her know that (a) the clinic was advising I go to the emergency room so I could possibly get a CT scan, and (b) depending on the result of the CT scan I may be admitted for treatment. I gave her the option of driving me there because if they did admit me then I would have no way to notify her of their intentions. At least if she were there, she would know what was going on.  Warrior Queen responded with sighs, a few “oys” and said she would talk to her boss once he came in.   

Fine, and again, “My day was getting better!”

Hours later, I am sitting on my gurney waiting for the decision to do a CT scan, and I get to consider that not only has Warrior Queen gotten nearly a full day away from the office (with her boss’ blessing), but she is in fact doing her favorite quiet activity: knitting. The doctor came in, listened to my chest, agreed with the clinic doctor’s assessment that we should evaluate the heart, and ordered the scan.  He also mentions the possibility of a blood clot on my lung which the scan will confirm or rule out.

Once again, my day just keeps getting better.

I then considered my present activity: sitting quietly watching daytime tv, with the electrodes adhered to my upper torso leading to the device monitoring my cardiac activity, the blood pressure cuff that occasionally hugged my upper arm like a boa constrictor would squeeze the life out of a small mammal, a finger doohickey which monitored the oxygen level in my blood (how it does this, I’ll never know), and the fact that my lower back was getting sore from sitting in one position for hours on end.  And oh yes, I nearly forgot about the two IVs stuck in both of my upper extremities:  one needle in the back of my left hand to draw blood for lab work, and the other needle stuck in the crook of my right elbow to facilitate the contrast dye they would need for the CT scan.  I added up all these events, the devices, my illness, my situation into one big equation which I’ll admit stacked the irony heavily in my favor. 

Thus, I responded to Warrior Queen's knitting observation with a pithy, “Well, it certainly sucks to be you today!”

I don’t recall if Warrior Queen said anything beyond a grunt of disgust, although it would not have surprised me if she stuck her tongue out at me. Such is the level of our affection we display for each other after nearly 25 years of marriage.

I would not have seen this sign of endearment as her seat was situated behind me and to one side of the room.  I would have had to look over my shoulder to see this reaction, but even this small movement seemed a trifle over ambitious for me to attempt at that moment.

A few hours later, the CT scan was done and the doctor came back and confirmed that, while my bronchitis had not improved significantly, there was no more sign of pneumonia, and no sign of a blood clot, no sign of all this related to my heart condition, and barring any other reasons why I may want to stay,  he could see no reason to admit me and advised that we could go home to continue the treatment the clinic had prescribed.   

Suddenly, my day really did get better!

Another hour passes by and Warrior Queen sits through some action packed sequences from one of Bruce Willis’ Die Hard sequels, while we wait for needles to be pulled, electrodes to be ripped off, and paperwork to be reviewed and signed. From there, I was deposited at home to feed the cats while Warrior Queen went to her gym appointment. From there, I thanked her for sitting by me all those hours with a dinner out at Applebee’s.

So it was a good day after all.


I know this is a rough week, and probably the worst week of your life. Please accept our condolences on losing Marion. I know she was a wonderful mother to you and your siblings. Thank you for sharing her with us and we’ll get together soon.

(Thank you for reading!  Now if I could just get back to work...)