“I think I’ve seen this movie before. …” Photo by Thang Cao on Pexels.com
Good news! Americans weary of watching war in the desert (“Yawn … seen it!”) can change the channel to jungle combat as U.S. troops “advise” their counterparts in Ecuador.
Jaysis fuck, etc. Yanks just can’t stop lashing uncounted tonnage of “dumb dust” up their snouts, so we expand the War on Drugs to include “narco-terrorism” and start shipping Special Forces to Ecuador, which itself does not produce any nose whiskey but serves as a trafficking route.
I suppose it’s only a coincidence that what Ecuador does produce in quantity is — wait for it — oil.
Meanwhile, Sniffles the Clown keeps horning fat rails of Adderall to take his mind off that pepperoni pizza he’s baking on his neck, and that’s OK because he’s the Pestilence an’ shit, so keep it coming, bitches.
“For my friends, everything; for my enemies, the law. Also, and too, the Green Berets.”
“Rash? Fake news!” says press secretary Karoline Leavitt as her head takes a hot lap around her shoulders. “There are no rashes in this White House. Hail Satan!”
No, not diaper rash. Though he probably has that too. This rash would be a little higher, something like the fabled “ring around the collar,” if by “ring” you mean something that looks like a wicked case of contact dermatitis, late-stage syphilis, shingles, or as one Internet comedian (not me) surmised, “The Evil trying to get out before he dies.”
If it is a Hickey from Hell, do you suppose this means that he and the Devil are going steady? I would’ve thought Old Scratch could do better than this burned-out old hoor, but there’s no accounting for taste. Maybe he’s getting bad advice from Jeffrey Epstein, who must still be irked about getting whacked in jail.
I think of stuff like this in the dead of night instead of sleeping so you can get a good night’s rest. You’re welcome.
March has already been awash in dire portents and we’re not even three full days in yet.
Kerrygold’s Blarney …
I bought a block of my favorite Kerrygold cheese, their Blarney variety (because Irish, blarney, etc.) and its expiration date was 03/27 — my birthday!
We’ve had two consecutive days of high-temperature records — 79° on Sunday and 80° yesterday, with special guest appearances by particulates and pollen (juniper, elm, oak, cottonwood, and ash) — followed by a full lunar eclipse of the Worm Moon, which makes it a Blood Moon.
… and its expiration date.
And of course we have the war on Iran. I don’t know why The Pestilence felt it necessary to go all the way to Iran to kill Americans when he’s been so successful at that right here at home. Whatever happened to America First?
The body count’s not high enough yet to distract his base from the sudden jump — soo-prise, soo-prise, soo-prise — in gas prices. But they’re bound to take notice after the next few fill-ups.
Nothing to see here, move along, move along. I’m sure His Excremency will be sending Kuwait a bill for the $300 million in F-15E Strike Eagles they shot down the other day, and equally certain that he’ll be sharing that windfall with the rest of us.
That’s the news — and now, here’s Asmodeus with the weather!
“Folks, we may be in the End Times, but don’t expect any end to this heat! The Dark Lord has the Lake of Fire at a rolling boil, and we expect Hell to remain unfrozen for the better part of … well, forever! Back to you, Patrick!”
From the moment he announced an extensive military attack against Iran by posting an edited social media video at 2:30 a.m. Saturday, President Trump made clear that he would be taking a different tone and approach than his wartime predecessors.
Mr. Trump did not scramble back to the White House from Mar-a-Lago, his private club and residence in Palm Beach, to oversee the U.S. and Israeli strikes. He did not deliver a televised address informing the public of the killing of Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, who was the nation’s supreme leader for nearly four decades.
Instead, the president capped an extraordinary day of U.S. aggression abroad by attending a glitzy fund-raising dinner at his club.
With this REMF at the top of the org’ chart the old joke applies more than ever: What’s the difference between the U.S. armed forces and Scouting America? The Scouts have adult leadership.
Maybe the headline should be “Forrrrrrr’d, Mar … a-Lago!”
“Periwinkle blue, boys,” the color Mickey the Pikey wanted for his ma’s caravan in “Snatch.”
The Duck! City was smokin’ the day after the State of the Union crashed and burned, reaching a high of 72 degrees — 18 degrees above average.
It’s nice to be above average in something. But still, damn.
The roses are budding and so is everything else. The primates who call this desert home may view with alarm the federal knuckles being dragged into the Colorado River Compact, which remains an insoluable dilemma to its signatories and will join the long list of issues about which His Excremency King Piggy the Sticky-Fingered knows nothing and cares even less.
And Your Humble Narrator, who ordinarily yearns to piss off to someplace toasty about this time of year, finds himself in the awkward position of grumbling about beautiful weather in February.
All of which means — yes, yes, yes — it’s time for a Coconut Telegraph edition of Radio Free Dogpatch. Apologies to the late Jimmy Buffett, from whom I liberated the headline.
• Technical notes: RFD uses the Ethos mic from Earthworks Audio; Audio-Technica ATH-M50X headphones; Zoom H5 Handy Recorder; Rogue Amoeba’s Audio Hijack; Apple’s GarageBand, and Auphonic for a quick wash and brushup. The dog drinking from his dish and the car failing to start come from Freesound. The background music, “Easy Stroll,” is from YouTube’s audio library. Other sound effects are the work of the thirsty, sunburnt, untraveled Irish-American behind the bar at this non-alcoholic pub.
Gen. Carl’s Jr. von Clownswitz: “War is neither a scientific game nor an international sport; it is an act of violence, characterized by destruction. Now where’s my cheeseburger?”
Should’ve given the feckin’ eejit his prize.
That lightweight bitch-slap to his tiny puckered hole of a mouth, coupled with The Supremes 86ing (well, 6-3ing) his insane tariffs scheme, and finally the shit ratings for his impromptu “Dope-rah” skit — a.k.a. the State of the Union — pretty much guaranteed he was going to pull the trigger on another half-baked, open-ended Charlie Fox in Iran so he can feel better about his poorly hung, pants-shitting, Adderall-addled, senile old self.
“Operation Fucking Shit Up: This Time We Mean It!” will annihilate Iran’s nuclear program, which was annihilated in the last go-round, except, oops, not. Bonus: It makes Congress look even more like Blanche DuBois and has every journo in the world working on a weekend.
Some people voted for this shit. Not me.
If I were running Cuba I might think about applying to become our 51st state — well, 52nd, behind Venezuela. Maybe 53rd if Mexico’s as quick on the draw as they were with “El Mencho.”
But that’s no guarantee of safety. Hair Füror has already shown he’s OK with invading U.S. territory and killing U.S. citizens if no one else is handy.
Mad Blog Media 