We Gotta Get That Here!

Make way...old guy coming' through!

They have this deal in Brazil that is absolutely the greatest invention since canned beer.  If you are a citizen of that banana republic,  a fairly recent law requires all private businesses and government facilities to provide immediate and differentiated attention to people aged 60 and over.  If not in compliance, a company or government agency can be fined something like $750 (or a bazillionty brazilions in Brazilian currency) for each screw up.  

In other words, OLD CATS GET CUTS!  If you're 60 or older you can walk into a bank or any place of business and, upon spotting a line, simply stride to the front of the queue and say, "excuse me, I'm next."  No lie!  It's the best geezer benefit this side of the senior discount at the movies.  Maybe we could get that  law passed here before the next Star Wars hits the multiplex?  Imagine how much fun it would be to cut in front of all those candy ass millennials as you score a senior discounted seat.  Sweet!  Maybe we could even corner the market on popcorn and Good N' Plenty.

As it is with all dictates, there are some who are angered by the new law.  A bar owner in Fortaleza says that he is bothered by the guys he considers able-bodied seniors with "dyed hair and a pocket full of Viagra" cutting in front of the rest of his customers.  He also says the law has turned his mother-in-law into a megalomaniac.  Get over it junior!

I say we seniors start making some demands of our elected or soon to be elected officials.  Any one of the clowns currently begging for our support should promise to get this done for us ASAP.  (We're not getting any younger ya' know.)  It would be the ultimate way to get back at our kids.  "Keep working, fruit of my loins, mom and pop don't need to be standing in any lines."  "Thanks for the Social Security and that Medicare freebie, now STAND BACK GRAMPS IS COMIN' THROUGH!"

First one of you political polecats to ram this one home gets my vote and a case of Depends.

"Hey you kids, get off of my lawn!"

Primary Primer

My wife and I stopped off at the county election office the other day to make sure we are both registered to vote in Idaho.  We knew we had filled out the paperwork last year but have received only a trickle of postal effluvia from candidates or the county so far and the primary is scheduled for March 8.  The woman at the office explained that they don't send out reminders to voters and, if you want to vote absentee, it's up to you to initiate the request.  All of this struck both of us as refreshing after coming from California where folks and their pets with or without a pulse can vote as many times as they'd like.  Here in Idaho they're also "old fashioned" enough to require actual proof of identification when you vote.  They have the nerve to ask for a driver's license or another form of valid picture identification before handing you a ballot.  The horror!  That wouldn't play in Chicago, L.A., New York or other parts of America where it's too much trouble to stop by the DMV for a driver's license or FREE ID card.  Can't be putting voters to that much trouble.  No sir.

Of course as the primary date draws near we increasingly find ourselves wondering if there is a bandwagon worthy of boarding.  Both the Republicans and Democrats, as of right now, have a couple of lowlife tools leading their respective packs.  It's a real Hobson's choice between a draft dodging blowhard billionaire who was born on third base and thinks he hit a home run for the Republicans and a draft dodging screwball commie leading the lefty parade.  I'd love to get Ben Franklin, Tom Jefferson or John Adams to weigh in on these two.  They would, no doubt, be passing the hemlock.  By the way, it was Plato who said, "Wise men talk because they have something to say; fools talk because they have to say something."  Care to guess where Bernie and The Donald fit in?

The wife and I have decided to go with all write-in candidates.  They're all neighborhood pals who will work for peanuts and are too stupid to steal.  Perhaps you'll want to caucus for them when your primary rolls around.  Don't forget your ID.  Here are our endorsements...

Major Lard:  a real leader but a little squirrelly.

Millie Whatmuff:  wife of Major Lard and keeper of the nuts.

Shugga Free Leonard:  "What are you looking' at?!"

Stubby Clapp:  Sheriff of Squirrelltown, steals with aplomb.  A real politician.

Well, At Least The Girls Like It...

Since she used to teach school, I asked my wife if grade school kids still make valentines with their little scissors, crayons and construction paper.  In my opinion, Valentine's Day should be all about a school party and "art" projects to be taken home to mom.  She thought that they still do though there are no doubt many more idiotic restrictions  than there were in the 1950's and '60's.  You know, some kid is probably allergic to paste or maybe there are now "trigger" words to be avoided when putting together the homemade love greetings.  Then it came to me that an accurate reading on all of this could be obtained simply by asking daughter Katie what Valentine's Day happenings were planned for our six year-old grandson Dan's class.

I started thinking of Valentine's Day and all the preparations for the faux holiday we boys liked in my grade school years of the 1950's.  The fact that there was a half day long party on the calendar and a few days of project time devoted to making the cards and decorations for the big event certainly was a plus.  We boys cared diddly about all that mushy love stuff but it did get us out of actual school work. The girls ate it up.  They took great pride in making fancy cards and elaborate boxes that were to be the receptacles for all the gooey declarations of love they expected to receive from their male classmates and BFF's.

We guys had a slightly different take on the process.  Our valentines were all poorly drawn, hastily prepared messy missives.  Our mailboxes were decorated with flames, guns and drawings of explosions.  As for our "hand crafted" cards, I specifically remember cutting out a picture of a vacuum cleaner and pasting it in the middle of a card for my mom.  (Even then I knew what it took to impress the ladies.) The big blob of paste  used to secure the picture oozed out the sides and clumped like cat flop all over the inside of my card.  I didn't care.  My pal, Lon Cooper, stole my idea but substituted a V-8 engine picture that I'm sure thrilled his mom.  Ronnie Smith, ever the clown,  selected a good sized hand picked booger and placed it on a spring lifted from his ballpoint pen that jumped right out of a heart made just for his mom.  If memory serves, Ronnie did not get to take that one home.  Nonetheless, his mom still visits him every other Valentine's Day at the state prison.  A mother's love is forever.

Ronnie at this year's state prison valentine party.

Not everyone can pull off this look.

So, in checking with youngest daughter, Katie, she has assured me that the Valentine's Day festivities are still very much a part of America's grade school culture and that the homemade cards for family and friends remain a staple.  I guess nobody has yet figured out a way to feel threatened or offended by all that mushy stuff.  Grandson Dan, now six, made his mom a valentine crown complete with antennae  and managed to slap together a semi-red blob that "sort of" looks like a heart.  (I'd love to see what kind of art work the girls in his class created.)

If you squint, this almost looks like a heart.

I have to say that in spite of my built in boy bias toward all things Valentine's Day related I am semi-delighted that the PC police are, at least for now, leaving this bit of cultural nonsense alone.  It's probably good that youngsters are being encouraged to openly express love and appreciation for family and friends.  I do believe it helps those of us of team XY to be more sensitive and caring.  As a matter of fact, this year in addition to the usual tickets to see the WWE, I'm tossing in TWO cases of beer as a Valentine's Day treat for my wife.  (Micro brew, no Bud.)  Dan has a long way to go before he tops grandpa.

This Just In From Stump Jumper Country

Dateline:  Georges Mills, NH

New Hampshire, state of maple syrup, moose meat, muskrats and Massholes is ready to vote.  Yes, the once dependable state of "live free or die" citizens who previously would have preferred blowing their brains out to voting for a socialist are preparing to choose between two of them.  Well, at least the Democrats are.  Yes, a state long home to ZERO Democrats, now sports a Democratic primary on next week's agenda.  Over the past few decades the Granite State, through lack of border security, has allowed itself to be infiltrated by the liberal denizens of Massachusetts (Massholes) who apparently love everything about their state except living there.  New Hampshire with its low taxes and pro business attitude has a lot of appeal for residents of Massachusetts, a tax sucking state too small for a republic and too large for an insane asylum.  Unfortunately the majority of these lunatic transplants insist on retaining their illogical and crack brained political credentials and  insist on registering as Democrats.  Now, by necessity, New Hampshire has a primary for these poor misguided bastards.


To properly analyze the coming primary election in this small New England state this blog is calling on special correspondents. 

The Skipper (left) offers cigar smoking tips to local hobo.

 We can cut through a great deal of the "wicked bad" political BS endemic in the state by turning to my longtime pal "The Skipper" for his always cogent take on all things Granite State.  The Skipper is more than qualified to weigh in on both the Republican and the Democrat races as he has lived in what he affectionately refers to as "New Hamster"for more than forty years.  A cranky retired merchant sea captain,  he resides in the rural community of Georges Mills with his wife, Betty, a Boston native who refuses to acknowledge the existence of the letter "R" or the Republican party.   She also deftly uses the word "wicked" as both an adjective and an adverb. She's perfect go to gal for Democrat analysis.  The Skipper, on the other hand, is a lifelong conservative Republican who owns a pick-up truck, a chain saw, snow tires, and has an extensive collection of flannel shirts.  He also loves classic country music, the state liquor store and is the proud owner of the largest collection of lighted beer signs east of the Mississippi.  Impeccable credentials I think you'll agree.

The Skipper's pithy commentary on the primary campaign thus far might best be summed up this way:  "Get the hell out of my state you illegitimate spawn of burrowing rodents!!" And that request is merely for the men and women of the media.  With regard to the candidates from both parties, his summation of the situation contains two commands: "Get out and stay out!

Since the dork from Baltimore has dropped out of the donkeycrat primary, let's take a look at that primary first.  Betty,  our aforementioned Boston native and unrepentant liberal who still thinks Ted Kennedy should have received the Navy Cross for Chappaquiddick instead of the chair, says she'll cast her vote for Hillary.  Her logic for doing so?   She'll do it because "she's a woman and capable of screwing up the country just as well as a man."  This reasoning makes about as much sense as eating dog dookie  because "it looks like a Tootsie Roll", but I digress.  It's interesting that the party of "diversity and inclusion" offers its fans two geriatric gasbags for this year's candidate roulette.  Either one of these wheezing geezers might be better off in an assisted living facility.

On the Republican ballot The Skipper has expressed some degree of enthusiasm for Ted Cruz which is troubling.  I agree that he has some good ideas but how can anybody get excited about a guy who looks like a small town undertaker or the clown who wrecked the curve for everybody in those crappy high school math classes you were forced to take?  The guy is totally UNLIKEABLE.  Skip agrees with me that Carly Fiorina is certainly the best female candidate in either party and probably the best candidate overall but the media seems to hate her and it's hard to beat that DNC typing pool.

Chris Christie could do well.  In spite of gastric by-pass he still looks like a Florida manatee thus giving a majority of New Hampshirites the chance to say, "Hey, he looks like me!"  Rubio, according to my old pal, looks "too young and inexperienced" to which I reply, "shallow and callow worked pretty well in 2008 and 2012 didn't it?" Ben Carson is a great doctor, nice guy and fine conservative American but why not shoot for Surgeon General on your first try?  Kasich looks like the guy who is always trying to get you to join the Lions Club or show you pictures of his match book collection.  No thanks Ozzie Nelson.
Bush?  Sorry, your pop was okay but your brother just about ruined it for Republicans named Bush.

Though he's not saying for sure, I'm fairly certain that The Skipper has tipped his hand regarding his pick in the primary.  That exclusive interview with "The Donald" locked in the old veteran.  He's picking Trump all the way when the votes are counted on Tuesday.  (Pay no attention to that complimentary gin and tonic on the bar.)

That's the latest from "New Hamster".. It will be Trump for the Republicans and Richard Nixon in a pantsuit for the Dems.
Tell 'em The Skipper and Betty sent ya.  And NO you can't get your money back when the polls close.

The Skipper hamming it up with The Donald.

By the way, you are all invited to a post primary party at The Skipper's place.  Dance the night away to Al Sharpton and his Tawana Brawley Jive Five.
 Sorry, no COD (the fish you idiot, it's New Hampshire).

The Gimme Party

Whatever happened to Democrats like Harry Truman, Scoop Jackson and JFK?  Not that any of those guys would recognize their old party these days.  In 2016 the dems are offering up three candidates that are so comically unqualified to be president they make the less than inspiring slate of Republicans look like the second coming of George Washington, John Adams and Abe Lincoln.

What the donkeycrats have to offer this time around is two geriatric  broken down has beens and a younger doofus  who's only claim to fame is having been one of the worst mayors of the second worst city in the country.  And, when he finished with Baltimore, Martin O'Malley took his "magic" to Annapolis for a forgettable stint as governor of Maryland.  All of this hardly matters since he barely rates an asterisk in Democratic polls. No need to worry that he'll get his mitts on our ship of state.  Hillary Clinton, as of this writing, seems to be the odds on favorite to win the Democratic nomination if she isn't indicted for any number of crimes involving her unsecured state department email account and criminal activity by the Clinton Foundation.  She and her minions feel entitled to the presidency based on the fact that she is a woman who couldn't possibly do a worse job than a man.  Wanna bet?  Just for the record,  this woman had so little integrity that she faked more than forty years of looking the other way while her old man was doing the horizontal mambo with everything in a skirt.  The young intern playing "Bobbing for Bubba" in the oval office was okay by her as long as hound dog Billy promised to help her become the second President Clinton.  All of this proving that chicanery of this magnitude  reinforces the political maxim that the quality of one's compromises is more important than the correctness of one's position.  This morally bankrupt harridan actually believes that she is entitled to the presidency and will stop at nothing to get the gig.  

Getting the gig is tough this time around when you have an avowed socialist running for the nomination while promising to provide the electorate with bon bon trees, income "equality", free college and, in general, a government willing to pay whatever it takes to buy your vote.  (A leader willing to rob Peter to pay Paul can always depend on the steadfast support of Paul.)  Bernie Sanders is a socialist.  The guy honeymooned in the former Soviet Union!  Can you imagine trying to explain to Harry Truman that his party has a 74 year-old Brooklyn born Jewish socialist who loves getting cozy with commies in serious contention for the nomination?!  This guy has no shame.  Somehow always managing to look like he just arrived from an explosion at the Salvation Army,  Bernie  appears all over the primary states of Iowa and New Hampshire promising to end "income inequality" with a jumbo sized horn o' plenty loaded with government goodies purchased with money the government doesn't have and WON'T have but will gladly put on your grandchildren's credit card.

Of course Hillary and Marty have jumped on the income inequality bandwagon too.  It's easy to prey on the stupidity of any adult who really finds something amiss in the fact that a doctor or president of a major company makes more money than the vice president in charge of rags at the neighborhood car wash.  Here's a news flash for those morons:  YOU'RE ONLY WORTH AS MUCH AS SOMEONE IS WILLING TO PAY YOU!  If you want to make $25 million a year playing baseball, you'd better be good enough for the owner of the team to have money left over after handing you your paycheck.  Lots of us can mop floors, wash cars and carry out groceries; that's why those jobs don't pay well.  Positions of that caliber are not supposed to be careers.  They are stepping stones to aspirational occupations that bring higher pay as a reward for skills that are in demand.  Nobody hands out good paying jobs.  You must work hard for them and develop the required expertise to do them well.  America was built on this premise; not free college and "equal" pay.

A man of great wisdom, Shelby Steele, summed up the philosophy of today's Democratic party rather well when he said, "Liberalism in the 21st Century is, for the most part, a moral manipulation that exaggerates inequity and unfairness in American life in order to justify overreaching public policies and programs."  

Winston Churchill said it even better:  "Socialism is a philosophy of failure, the creed of ignorance, and the gospel of envy.  Its inherent virtue is the equal sharing of the misery." 

These pipsqueak candidates can keep their campaigns of division and envy.   America needs a Winston Churchill in 2016.

...Or, Are You Just Happy to See Me?

Most people crave pets.  Smart people own cats and dogs.  Morons collect snakes and other critters that belong behind glass or bars.

Of course the nitwits who go for the exotic animals usually wind up tiring of the not so cuddly object of their affection and either give the creature away, turn it loose or stupidly kill it with neglect.  South Florida now has a sufficient python population to host an annual round-up of this unwelcome addition to the fauna of the everglades.  Thousands of these non native reptiles have laid waste to the original inhabitants of that fragile and beautiful river of grass and they seem to have no natural enemies. This ecological disaster was solely created by python owners and their' fickle illegal decision to set them free.

This does NOT belong in your pants!

A story just last week gave further proof to my contention that only a short bus rider would want to consider a snake as a suitable pet candidate.  A Portland, Oregon pet store captured a local dimwit--and, by the way, Portland has no shortage of dimwits--stuffing a two foot long python down his pants just prior to strolling out the door of the establishment.  Thanks to a surveillance camera, the culprit didn't get far and may have accidentally been saved from one of those hard to explain embarrassing emergency room visits.  You see, it seems the cute and not so cuddly slithering spawn of Satan was VERY close to feeding time.  Ouch!

Granted, if memory serves,  for most young guys, any action south of the belt line that doesn't involve limping out of a rectory at three in the morning is  generally okay, but this may have been more than the young non- invitee to the Mensa picnic bargained for.  

As the great Norman Cousins wisely said, "Wisdom consists of the anticipation of consequences."  

Stick to cats and dogs kid.  They won't fit in your pants.

Young jughead about to make his move...

Tick Tock

Quick! I need to lose twenty pounds and replace fifty-thousand burned out brain cells.

Fifty years?!  According to emails I've been receiving, this year marks the fiftieth anniversary of my high school escape… uh, graduation and there is going to be a reunion.  After the initial realization that I could have gone to high school and graduated a couple of more times in fifty freakin' years it occurred to me to celebrate and embrace the fact.  It's always good to see old friends who shared the same longitude and latitude with you during this now seemingly prehistoric benchmark on history's timeline.  

The early sixties were really more like the 1950's.  The "Sixties" as popular culture defines it really didn't begin until just about the time my class graduated from high school in 1966.  Spencer, Iowa was, and is, tucked away in the frozen and often dusty cornfields of Northwest Iowa about two-hundred miles from Des Moines and even further away from any cities of consequence like Minneapolis or Kansas City.  Today, with Amazon, Netflix and broadband access in general, I imagine it doesn't seem far removed from the rest of the world but the feeling was much different fifty years ago.  In 1966 we had three television stations available in "living black & white" from the ever so sophisticated markets of Sioux City and Sioux Falls, a very skinny daily newspaper, a movie theater that got the latest movies a couple of months after the rest of the world, and a corn pone local radio station that featured farm markets and music programmed for our parents. NO ROCK N' ROLL!  Is it any wonder most of us wanted to escape?  (By the way, piggies are up and moo cows are even at today's livestock market open.)

It'll be fun to get together this coming August to do some catching up.  I can't imagine there being much pretense or self importance at this point.  If you had something to prove, you've done it and there is no need to bullshit anybody, even if you could. It's time to reflect on mistakes and successes with the wisdom and contentment that is the sweet by-product of grabbing life by the horns.  Coming from rural and small town America, the experiences of the past fifty years have been, I'm guessing, for most of us even more big screen and technicolor than it has been for our counterparts who graduated into adult life from places like New York City or San Francisco.  

Our dreams in 1966 may have been in black & white and we knew little of the world, but now, fifty years hence,  I'm expecting to hear plenty of colorful stories of triumphs, near misses and failures that taught some important lesson.  As Mark Twain said, "The two most important days in life are the day you are born and the day you discover the reason why."  I expect most all of the class of '66 has, by now, figured out why.   It'll be good to hear their stories.

"Turn the rotor it's time for Bandstand."