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

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Location: Southeastern, Pennsylvania, United States

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

The Donald Trump Woman Card*

The Donald, in all his wisdom, has now proclaimed that his virtual opponent for the White House, Hillary Clinton, has only one weapon to defeat him.  According to him, she does not have to rely on her years of government service, as First Lady, Senator and Secretary of State to get elected President. No sir, she only has to use the woman card to get her way with the electorate.

Now this idea, if it were only true, is too good an entrepreneurial business idea to pass up!

Ladies, have you ever been in this situation: you’re late to pick up the kids from soccer practice, and you’re speeding down the road to make up time when suddenly you see the flashing lights of the law in your rear view mirror.  Oh, no!  Whatever will you do?

How will you talk yourself out of this one?  In the past you would have to resort to your “charms”, loosen the top button, or two, of your blousy top and allow the lawman to gaze upon those wonderful gifts nature bestowed upon you.  You would finish off this luscious course with a wide, white toothed smile and bat your eyelashes a few times.  

But no more! No longer will you have to lower and debase yourself just to get out of a moving violation! Now you can use the…wait for it…

We proudly announce the exclusive…DONALD TRUMP WOMAN CARD!!!!!!!!!!!

This will be YUGE!  It will be FABULOUS!  It will grant any member of the female gender a wide variety of privileges, prizes, and perks.  Such as…

 - Exclusive admission to any adult venue within the continental United States advertising a “ladies night” for nightly amusement.

 - Discounts for fines and/or fees associated with illegal activities. A virtual GET OUT OF JAIL FOR FREE CARD which can be used without having to hire one of those pesky lawyers!

 - Allow the bearer to become the envy of office gossip without having to dress “provocatively.”

 - Enable you to kill with a smile, wound with your eyes, ruin the faith of others with your casual lies, and only reveal what you want others to see!

 - And so much more and more and more…

So, ladies, grab your bras back out of the bonfires, throw away those old, scratched up vinyl copies of Marlo Thomas and Friends Free to Be You and Me, and say good bye to those outdated, obsolete 70s attitudes of equality!


We repeat: this is YUGE! This is FABULOUS, too FABULOUS for words, but we’ll say it again: DONALD TRUMP WOMAN CARD!!!!

Order now!  Operators (all female) are standing by to accept your order.  All major credit cards accepted!

LEGAL FINE PRINT:  The DONALD TRUMP WOMAN CARD is not available to members of the male gender. Void where prohibited by law, common sense, progressive thinking, and wherever people live comfortably with their God-given or even surgically enhanced sexual identity in a post-feminist society.

EDITOR’S NOTE:  We here at arteejee will be revoking the author’s Gloria Steinem Feminist Card, in addition to his NOW membership card.

*Not to be confused with the Hillary Clinton Bitch Card (yes, sorry, I had to go there) and certainly not to be confused with the Sarah Palin Stupid Card.

(Thank you for reading.  SATIRE…satire…SATIRE…satire…)

Friday, April 22, 2016

A Late Night Mardy Session

Once again, Spo Reflections has issued a list of words which are little known, little used, and should be revived for public consumption. One of those words leapt out at me like a pet cat lunging for a silverfish: mardy. It occurred to me that I have encountered several episodes of mardy within the last few days.

A few days ago, Warrior Queen retired early, as is her wont. She was tired physically and tired of listening to the baseball game on the radio. WTF, she figured, insomnia would interrupt her sleep patterns later. Also, the Phillies were losing anyway. The possibilities of being amused by the playing prowess of the home team dwindled quickly.

At about the same time, I descended into the basement to visit with our cat Oreo. She prefers living most of her hours away from Nyla and Gigi, and we oblige her by keeping the basement door closed. For all intents and purposes, the basement is off limits to the other two cats.

I always grab my key ring with the house and car keys whenever I go into the basement. The jangling noise keeps Oreo away from the door when I am going down, and to chase away the other cats when I come up at the end of the evening. This night, I did my usual routine with Oreo, sat and petted her, and told her what a good and pretty girl she is while we watch television.  

Usually, at the end of these nightly sessions, I turn out most of the lights in the basement (one is kept on 24/7 so she can see her way to the litter box during the night), and climb up the stairs. Also usually, with the key ring in hand, I am able to open and close the basement door without incident, i.e., before any of the other cats can sneak past me and cause havoc in Oreo’s domain.

This night was unusual.  My hands were full of other objects I was bringing up with me, preventing me from negotiating the door as quickly as I normally do. The kitchen is also dark at this time of night, so I did not see Nyla in the vicinity. She did give me the courtesy of uttering a meow as she darted past me and down the stairs.

Suddenly I became mardy. I called after her loudly to get her to turn around and come back up. My yelling was counter-productive. 

At times like these, when I want to get our cat’s attention, I forget logic and allow emotion to overcome my actions. Logic would tell me that cats have sensitive hearing and do not like loud noises such as kitchen pots banging, or middle-aged men screaming at them. In these situations, cats tend to run away from the source of the noise.

Nyla kept walking briskly away from me, nearly came nose to nose with Oreo, who expressed her mardy displeasure at Nyla’s intrusion. Nyla tried to find a place to hide, but she soon circled back to the basement steps and up towards the soothing tones of Warrior Queen calling to her from the top of the stairs. All the while Oreo kept up a steady stream of low, guttural groans.

Apparently my yelling had another negative effect: it woke up Warrior Queen. Nyla, suddenly overcome with a mood of cooperation, walked up the stairs and past Warrior Queen. Now, with Nyla and Oreo secure, we closed the basement for the final time that night and I faced WQ.

Wow, talk about mardy!


This morning (4/22), I should be in a mardy mood for several reasons. News reports are now saying that The Donald is softening his rhetoric on the campaign trail and the GOP party establishment is warming up to the idea that he could be their nominee.  Snarl!

Now we find out that Prince has passed on prematurely at the age of 57.  His music overtook the Top 40 radio charts in the early 80s much like the Bee Gees had done a few years earlier. In both cases, I grew tired of the constant onslaught of their music.   And in both cases, I have come to respect and like the music, but only over a period of time.

In Prince’s case, I could see that he got sounds out of a guitar that Jimi Hendrix was only beginning to get at the time of his death. Then there was the unabashed energy and youthful sexuality in his work. Dear Lord, even at 57 he looked like he could pass for 30.  

Prince is gone. Double snarl!  The forecast today is mostly mardy with a chance of mourning.

The best we can do this weekend is drive around with all of our windows open and CRANK UP THE PRINCE.

(Thank you for reading.  Rest in Peace, Purple One.)

Saturday, April 16, 2016

A Small Thought: The 1970’s

I happened to see the old expression sex drugs and rock and roll on someone’s Facebook post this week and it got me thinking about how those concepts seem to have become emblematic of the 70s.  All three existed before the decade began, obviously, but in the 70s they seem to take on more meaning and purpose than ever before.

And we look at the generation today, heads down in their ipads, their every waking moment on how to feed their materialistic lifestyle, and then shake our heads at how effed up their lives have become.

Boy, do we have nerve!  

Sex has been around for quite a while; otherwise, none of us would be here now.   

Drugs also predate my existence.

Rock and roll? Well, we could probably place the birth of that music genre around 1955, but it has its roots in, shall we say, baser human desires.  See sex above.

In any event, I got thinking about my place in the generational scheme of things.  I’m at the age where most things I remember doing or having are obsolete, or at least no longer usable. 

Manual typewriters?  Electric typewriters?  Hell, typewriters period!  Imagine that, millennials: word processors that didn’t require a screen.

Somehow, vinyl LPs (long playing) albums have come back in style.  Yet society has no use for the listening technology that succeeded them. 8 track tapes?  They date back to the Paleolithic age, don’t they? Cassette tapes?  I’m embarrassed to say how many of those I still own. 

Telephone booths?  Sorry, they only exist in old Superman comic books. Oh, and while we are on the subject, phones could only be held as long you didn’t walk further than five feet from the wall where the phone was mounted, or the table it sat on.  Otherwise, you would be disconnected, or in the language to which you can relate: no bars!  (Cue Shakespearean peel of thunder here.)

Are you trembling yet, Millennials?

Yet I don’t believe I’m at the age yet where someone 30 years younger than myself can address me as “old timer”, and ask me about those bygone days way back when.  Give me another ten years and I’ll gladly submit to the old timer label.  Until then, I’m still middle-aged, and don’t you young whippersnappers forget it!

So what if a Millennial asks me today about the 70s and the triumvirate concepts of sex drugs and rock and roll?  What can I tell them?

I can only speak of my own experiences in that decade. I cannot speak for my entire generation and claim that my achievements equaled theirs.  I can only surmise, nay hope and pray, that everyone else in my generation had a helluva lot more fun than I did.

Take sex. In the 70s sex for me was, oh what is the term I’m searching for…hot? Steamy? No, hypothetical! That’s the term I’m looking to describe my sex life in the 70s. Sex for me in the 70s was an endless series of “What if’s?”  Yet I encounter people everyday that were born in that decade. Their existence is proof that somebody somewhere in the 70s had sex, but it certainly wasn’t me!

Drugs? I think the Constitution covers my butt when referencing drug use in the 70s. Let’s see, First Amendment, Second Amendment, Third Amendment…yes, here it is, the Fifth Amendment. I shall claim that if any Millennials prod me about my drug use.  (Hush, Janey.)

Rock and roll? Ah, yes!  I can look back upon my experiences and comment truthfully on this concept. I listened to this genre on the radio, collected the vinyl, listened to the stereo, and went to a few concerts. 

Country and western?  Polkas?  Ewww!

So, in regard to the tunes I heard in the 70s, I can answer them honestly. If they ever ask me about sex drugs and rock and roll in the 70s, then I can look them confidently in the eye and say: “Well, the music was good.”

(Thank you for reading. Seriously, we actually printed words on a piece of paper without a television screen in the 70s. Don’t shake your heads at me, you effed up Millennials!)

Friday, April 08, 2016

Egbert Souse’s Compendium of Rare, Archaic, and Little Used Verbiage

During one of my commutes this week, I was stricken with an ailment which I will call fluric. I define fluric as a moment of anxiety (or panic) felt at the sight of snow flurries falling on a date well after the official arrival of spring. The attack is alleviated only upon the realization that the “flurries” are actually blossoms falling from trees and blown about by a nice, stiff spring breeze.

This word will be my contribution to western culture whose residents are compelled to create innovations to language, the arts, and sciences. It is my hope that my humble contribution will be added to the word registry listed at the top of this blog entry. Mr. Souse’s (a breve over the “e”) dictionary is an exhaustive listing of unique and interesting terms (at which many people may sniff) and are nothing more than fifty cent words.   

Usage of these terms does pose a danger of abuse by overuse.  Wisely dispersed, the words could be a sign of class. Once abused, they can become the legendary half dollar words which would have prompted our blue collar ancestors to snort in contempt.

All of this contemplation on linguistics comes to mind in the form of a challenge directed at Warrior Queen a few months ago. My dear spouse’s blog (From My Brain to My Mouth) is, as the title suggests, brief and to the point. She writes with short bursts of vernacular that can dip below the level of the gutter, but that is her style, and I respect that. My blog, I must confess, tends to be more garrulous.

In contrast, we daily read another blog, Spo Reflections, a collection of thoughtful essays on living in this modern western culture we refer to as civilization. Seriously, our knowledge of the English language is greatly enriched whenever the Spo Board of Directors allows the author to employ little used words. We race to Google the words and once again enjoy the experience of acquiring knowledge, which is something we may not have always appreciated in our youth. 

We at arteejee suspect that the Board has an original copy of Mr. Souse’s compendium. By the way, don’t look for it on Amazon. It is long out of print - the fourth and last edition was published in 1940 - and I guarantee that it will not be found in any rare book stores; if merchants of said product even still exist in the brick and mortar sense.

The challenge laid down in front of Warrior Queen was for her to write a blog entry in the style of Spo Reflections and for Spo to write an entry in her style. At last report, Warrior Queen was still mulling her options. We don’t know what the Spo Board of Directors thinks of the idea: they haven’t returned our phone calls.

In any event, I surmise that we will be plumbing the depths of Mr. Souse’s volume of language enhancement for Warrior Queen to do the work any sort of justice. We do so to be genuine, not artificial. We will not be accused of being frauds, pecksniffs or tartuffes! Nor will we stand for such cognomen labels as luddy-duddies, mooncalves, or jabbernows. We will defy all attempts to demean our efforts to acquire an adscitious excrescence to our understanding of the English communication...

(EDITOR’S NOTE: We are ending this entry here as it has gotten too silly. You’ll thank us later.)

(Thank you for reading. We hope we did Mr. Souse proud!)