As I flip through my FB screen, I will occasionally see something I am personally affronted and insulted by, and I take immediate steps to remove the post and any like it forever.
Not so fast to pull the trigger when one of the hot internet babes flash a bikini pic occasionally.
The Domestic Despot calls this something about pig factor, or whatever.
Oh good.
Another bunch of illiterate pirates have boarded a cargo ship. Since this is now standard practice, when are these ships going to start arming themselves?
Torpedoes, .50 caliber machine guns, grenade launchers.
You get the idea.
There is no way a small boat could board without getting shredded. You sink a few of these thieves, and the piracy will wane.
Sooner or later, I predict an employment opportunity for nut jobs who want to provide security for cargo ships.
If I was just a little younger…
Uvalde, TX police chief Daniel Rodriguez finally submitted his resignation a full twenty-one months after the mass shooting at Robb elementary school. I guess you can only take being called a chicken-shit scumwad loser-douchebag for so long.
That little lawn gnome BabyHead Putin is talking about using his nukes.
So do it, already you little asshole.
Put up or shut up.
I thought so.
Shut up you little dumbass.
As long as we’ve got the Red October laying low in the China Sea, we’ll be fine.
You can pass all the bills you want, but getting Tik Tok to divest itself of all Chinese ownership is probably not going to happen.
Free enterprise not so free.
Seventy-four degrees and sunny today in southern Ohio.
In only the second week of March.
But there’s no global warming…
I have a Songwriter’s Showcase event coming up in one week. I will play a thirty-minute set of my original music.
It should be fun.
I am hoping my Manchester United Red Devils can reverse their fortunes and once again compete as one of the greatest football clubs in the world. They will have to begin the overhaul in the upcoming transfer window, and I hope they don’t screw the pooch like they have in the last two years.
Overpaying for players well past their prime, or unproductive purchases, has us fighting for a long shot to make the top four of the Premier League this season.
Oh, I’ll continue rooting for my lads, and I will still harbor unrealistic expectations year in and year out.
When Karen says something sensitive to me (usually after a devastating defeat) like, “Gee honey, why don’t you just go ahead and root for a different team? You know, one that WINS.”
This is the very crucial juncture where I manage to resist the irresistible urge to strangle the life out of her.
But no.
I don’t do it.
Abrosexual?
Not even going to ask, nor do I really have the energy to pursue it any further than this line of text.
Stay well.
