The 60hz Bugaloo

In a P.S. to my last post I mentioned I’d had an… um… surprise while wring outlets. I’ve since received several comments, all of which which were awesome. To clarify:

  • I was “shocked” not “electrocuted”. Proof of this is that I’m not dead. Good point!
  • Apparently everyone has done this at least once. I’ve done it far more often than I think a reasonably smart guy should. I just assumed everyone was better at wiring than me. This may be incorrect.
  • I always get the wiring right eventually but sometimes it’s more of a journey than I’d like. Who am I kidding? I’m like a monkey working out a Rubik’s Cube; except in the end it’s all done right.
  • Best joke ever: “Whats the natural frequency of an idiot who doesn’t clear and test the breaker? 60 hurts!”

The actual event went like this:

Me: “OK so I’ve killed the switch and I’m gonna’ swap this outlet. The probe says it’s dead so…”

Other Guy: “That’s weird, why is the light on the other side of the room flickering?”

Me: “Oh no that must mean that…”


Me: “Motherfu….”

Other Guy: “Ha ha ha.”

Internet: “You deserved it.”


Yes. It’s true. I deserved it.

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Acorns Are Stalking Me: Part 0.5

First of all, real men start counting at zero. Because computers.

Second, math people are not limited to integers. Thus, you’re reading part 1/2 of a story.

Third, dictation software is not as awesome as it seems.*

More about that third thing: I’ve been inhumanly busy lately. In an attempt to streamline blogging, I dictated a very short story while driving. Fail! Our modern world can livestream Facebook onto a teenager’s smartphone but can’t take dictation worth shit! I have a handheld audio recorder that is a wonder. Excellent fidelity, easy to use, great microphone, etc… My truck, despite having the usual Dodge-ish propensity to steer like a pregnant yak, is pretty quiet. Cruising down the road, the microphone recorded every word crystal clear and with minimal background noise. I also have Dragon Dictate, which is among the better dictation options. I even “trained” it to my voice and vocabulary. Yet, when I fed the audio through Dragon Translation I got this:

These masters will recycle saddlebags is to work you a is is a lot of acorns to fill motors saddlebags is a ridiculously large amount of time him acorns you recycle and dropping them in the saddlebags and was, I wish that I had all the acorns of one a couple days later I returned from my trip is in a box set in the kitchen catches his is usually email territory and it is true is curmudgeon insulin

Three pages of that shit! I dictated the story and even I have no idea what I was talking about. It’s like David Lynch did that talking backwards thing to Eliza Doolittle while she spews a Cockney accent and has a mouthful of marbles. There will be a small delay in the story while I take my laptop behind the woodshed and beat it senseless.


P.S. Also, I accidentally electrocuted myself while rewiring electrical outlets. I hate it when that happens. While this has nothing to do with acorns and can’t possibly be the fault of either Dragon Dictate or Dodge, I’m blaming them anyway.

* If you’re about to work yourself into a froth about how awesome Dragon happens to be, tell me what I’m missing. I’ve given it a proper unbiased test. If I use a top notch microphone at perfect tune in a quiet office and dictate very slowly and enunciate like I’m talking to a drunk, stupid, toddler, it’s only modestly useful. It’s probably awesome for repetitious tasks like medical records or if you’re injured but it just isn’t as great as I’d like.

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Acorns Are Stalking Me: Part 0

This morning there was one acorn in my boot. Not 50 acorns. Not 1000 acorns. Just one.

Just one!?! Those bastards! The mice are fucking with me! I’m being gaslit by Mus musculus and it’s going to give me a heart attack.

In the next few posts I will explain everything.

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A Visual Aid: Part 2

Interesting timing. I just hit “post tomorrow” on a 1500 word rant about “don’t use scandal as a political tool unless you don’t have scandal in your circle”. My thesis was that the party of D was ill advised to rely on scandal when they’re knee deep in “issues”.

Ten minutes later I bumped into on a live video of Al Franken addressing Congress. I only tuned in 30 seconds because the banner on the screen had all the news I needed. “Al Franken resigns”.

No shit.

Does anyone think this would’ve happened if Hillary won the election?

Remember, Al was squeezing tits on camera 8 years ago. Why is it a big deal now? An outbreak of civility and good manners? What could Al have done and for how long would he have done it had the election gone a different way? It’s Al’s misfortune that 2017 is the year Hollywood’s dam broke and started the pervnado.  (God I love that word!) Possibly it’s Al’s misfortune that his party is trying to clean house and play a better game.

Meanwhile the CBS talking head was saying:

“…this is bad news for Republicans…”


Yeah, there’s all sorts of maneuvering. Alabama’s bible thumping Roy Moore has been weakly accused of something far less than Al Franken and bright minds are working scenarios. Perhaps Moore will lose now? How can we spin this? Can we blame Trump? Russia? Global Warming?

Regardless of CBS and their ramblings, it’s never good news when one of your reliable votes and productive fundraisers takes a dump on himself. Duh!

In the long term, this is good news for everyone. Republic is served best by excellent parties in contention. I don’t want one party that dominates the other. I want all of them to compete. Compete hard. Try to be better than their opposition; not just scream the loudest but actually be good at governance. Lately both parties have been careening around fat, drunk, stupid, and apparently pervy.

If the Dems are cleaning house, good for them. Even if it took Trump’s win and many months of screaming helplessly at the sky to motivate them. It’s never too late to stop sucking pond scum in the ditch of bad decisions. If they really roll up their sleeves and clean up their act I salute them. I’d be happy if the party of R also sought excellence. I want both sides (and any third parties that are ready to punch above their weight class) to nut up and spend 2018 in Thunderdome going at it with hammer and tongs. I want the best and the way you get the best is competition.

If Trump’s terrifying hair is what made both parties get back to basics… so be it. This will be a fine accomplishment and a reason enough to love our messy, goofy, nation and it’s loud annoying president.

In seemingly unrelated news, the DOW is up 31% since Cheeto Jesus was elected by Deplorables and Russian spies. (24,140/18,332) I’m sure CBS can explain how that’s bad for Republicans too. They’re smart like that.

Obviously, life is more complex than a simple index. A soaring DOW can mean many things, including inflation or a bubble. But it’s never “bad news”.

Also, for the sake of humanity, would someone please take Paul Krugman behind the barn and beat him with a calculator. Why is he still employed? He said “the stock market will never recover from Donald Trump’s presidential victory. It recovered immediately and then hit the afterburners into a 31% run which is still going. It’s almost mathematically impossible to make worse predictions than that flaming dipshit Krugman.

[This is Curmudgeon’s dog. I was off sniffing rabbit tracks and found him ranting at the computer. Humans! They can’t be left unattended can they? It’s tough being Curmudgeon’s editor. You never know when he’ll do something stupid like start ranting about politics or chase the mailman.

Anyway, I dragged him away from his keyboard and shoved his head into a snowdrift. Then I barked at him for an hour. After that I took him for a walk. That seemed to work.

He promises he’s back on the bandwagon. He says his next post will involve circular saws and/or acorns. Thank you for your patience.]

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A Visual Aid

Theo Spark provided this handy representation of the Mueller Probe.

You can stop here if you want. It’s not the season for politics.

You’re still reading? OK, that’s your call.

I’ve been avoiding political commentary. Negativity is bad for everyone (including me) but it has given me time to form a theory. Maybe the stupid has to happen. It seems avoidable yet fools stick their finger in the light socket over and over. Is it necessary? Does the universe demand it? Are we watching adults learn lessons they failed to grok at age 11?

Figurative shovel handles hitting skulls that should know better merits a Curmudgeonly Gem Of Insight:

“When given the temptation and opportunity to do something monumentally stupid, it’s a perfectly reasonable choice to take a deep breath and let it go.”

After the 2016 election lots of people went ape. I can understand disappointment (who hasn’t seen an election where their preferred choice got pounded?). But the cult had an overdose of cognitive dissonance and went into a tailspin. Disappointment is normal, denial and anger (and riots in the street) are not.

Desperate to rationalize that the thing they just witnessed couldn’t possibly be true… even though they saw it with their own goddamn eyes… folks started plotting. They may think they’re Machiavellian but they’re not. They’re like teenage girls deciding to rumble with Thor. They might sprain Thor’s big toe but he’s just going shrug and hammer their ass into the pavement for getting in his way. Calmer heads would say: “Stop! This won’t work out well for us.”

Anyway, to end my bad metaphor, it took a few weeks for everyone to give up on their first idea. They weren’t going to recount their way out of this one. Math doesn’t listen to whining and Trump won beyond the margin of cheat.

Then, when wiser heads would accept that elections matter and promise to show better governance before the next job review in 2020, another dumb idea took root. They seized on Russia, Russia, Russia. That bitch Marsha gets all the attention and everything is her fault. It wasn’t an accident; the idea had been seeded. The minds that received it were fertile soil.

I remember thinking “after what the DNC did to Bernie Sanders they’re going to investigate the election?” Really? Isn’t that the last thing they’d choose to investigate? Won’t they bump into 30,000 e-mails? State secrets are on a convicted perv’s laptop and the one who facilitated it demands investigation? (Also, God bless Weiner for having such a great name.) Won’t sniffing around Russia dig up the uranium deal? Will it reignite Benghazi? Isn’t this going to bounce off Trump’s thick skull and land on his opponents?

It’s like Cheech and Cong demanding the cops look in the trunk.

You’d better be purer than the new fallen snow if you’re going to unleash amoral lawyers with unlimited budgets. Witch hunts have a way of backfiring. I’m not the first guy to notice this. Didn’t Jesus say something about who ought to cast the first stone? Or was that a proverb about glass houses?

Who among the Trump’s opponents considered what they were trying to do? Like maybe pour a stiff drink and sit in a comfy chair and turn it over in their minds. Is this a smart idea? Where will this lead? Are tactics based on scandal the best arrow in my quiver? Are they likely to hit Trump? Could they boomerang and bite me in the ass?

Trump has been pretty careful. He’s been in the limelight forever. Nobody knows much about about Obama’s past. Sometimes during the campaign it wasn’t clear where Hillary actually was. Bill Clinton (who doesn’t own a private plane but seems to borrow them freely) appeared on a tarmac to meet Loretta Lynch and thought nobody would notice an entire fucking jet. By contrast Trump is tracked. If he took a shit at the restroom in a Kentucky Fried Chicken in 1978 someone remembers it. He acts like a man who’s used to being monitored. Scrutiny has honed him. Conversely protection from scrutiny allowed many of his opponents to act like Caligula and stack skeletons in the closet like cordood.

You don’t use scandal when your main driver has 30,000 emails hanging out of her back pocket, a pissed off commie in Vermont with cultlike fans, married a man who fucks employees, and is associated with a convicted perv named Weiner. This is not their strong suit. The party that made Chappaquiddick a household name thought it wise to go after a man who doesn’t drink? The candidate that made a shady 10000% profit and has a charity that seems to do no charity is challenging the ethics of a man who’s every business deal (including failures) is analyzed on the front page? Investigations find skeletons in closets. Don’t start one if you live in a graveyard.

Nobody knows where this is going. (Though I’m sure it’ll be fun to watch.) They shouldn’t have created Frankenstein’s monster and turned it loose with the naive assumption he won’t show up in their own living room.  Strange things happen. Half the reason Wiener’s perving put him in jail is that his wife was Hillary’s right hand man. Investigating Hillary’s fishy real estate deal unearthed Bill’s spooge on a blue dress. Secrets have a gravitational pull on overstaffed investigators and Trump doesn’t seem very secretive. Russia, Russia, Russia advocates should know this; especially Hillary. How did the wife of a disbarred lawyer forget?

Regardless, things are proceeding accordingly. A zillion dollars and hundreds of people spending endless man hours all year have unearthed… not a lot. The investigations don’t make James Comey look better. His prints are all over memos trying to bury Hillary’s 30,000 emails. And he’s fired. Michael Flynn is formally accused of nothing except saying the wrong thing to a man with a badge. It’s called “aggravated class II Martha Stewarting”. The Russia dossier is discredited and was paid for by the DNC? How does this make Trump look bad?

There always could be a bombshell. His opponents, lacking evidence, hope he’s dirty. Raise your hand if you’ve heard “this time we’ve got him” in the past. Did any of them work out?

They’re projecting. The left side of the spectrum is awash in “issues” and assume everyone else has the same weaknesses. If Trump is secretly a Russian spy that throws orphans off the roof of Trump Tower I’m pretty sure someone would have spilled the beans by now. Eventually investigators are going to have to justify themselves by finding fruit elsewhere. The low hanging fruit is the group that created the investigators.

Now I’m going to segue into what happens when a bad idea boomerangs. Consider the current pervnado. (The best word ever!) This summer, the media was shocked shocked shocked to discover that Hollywood, spiritual home of Woody Allen and Roman Polanski, might have a few pervs. Why discover this in mid 2017? I suspect it was a handy distraction from the dying Russia, Russia, Russia narrative. The damn broke and it’s drowning everyone. Weinstein is toast and that just got the ball rolling. You’d need a spreadsheet to list the names. My favorite is Kevin Spacey. When accused of sexually harassing a 14 year old he explained “I’m like gay and stuff”… which is like responding to an accusation of carjacking by saying “I totally dig croissants”.

What do you do when scandal is not your best trait? If you’re one of two political parties you use scandal to go after an aged bible thumper in Alabama. Was this wise? Did they consider where it would lead? Did they think “is it good planning to drag the pervnado from Hollywood to the Senate?” Of course not.

So what happened? Everything happened as it should! Accusations targeting the decrepit bible thumper were weak. In due time they were discredited and he seems to be doing well in the polls. Meanwhile, Senator Steward Smalley from team investigate for malfeasance is explaining a photo of him kneading the tatas of a USO performer in a flight suit. Would this have happened if folks in the opposition weren’t trying to use scandal as a tool? Would any of us know that Congress has a special fund to pay sexual harassment cases without the pervnado? Are any of the revelations harming Trump or his party? Was a wounded Minnesota Senator a good trade for failing to fix with the Alabama Senatorial election? Wouldn’t wiser heads have let sleeping dogs lay?

Al Franken’s issues are what a backfire looks like.

As 2017 leads to 2018 I can almost hear their thoughts. “Let’s put that shovel on the ground and stomp on the motherfucker once again. This time we’ve got him for sure. OUCH. Well it didn’t work that time but lets try the shovel again…”

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Gator Fans Versus Guam Capsize

My last post mentioned Gator fan, convicted felon, and former United States Congresswoman Corrine Brown. She took the time, during congressional testimony, to utter these sage words:

“One, two, three, four, five, them there Gators don’t take no jive!”

She reminds me of currently serving Congressman Hank Johnson. I posted about him in 2014. On March 10th, 2010 the esteemed Mr. Johnson asked the Navy, during congressional testimony, if putting additional military staff on Guam would cause the island of Guam to capsize:

Remember these two duly elected nitwits whenever anyone uses a phrase like “tarnishes the dignity of the office”. Dignity has nothing to do with winning elections, democracy, or our republic. (Most Americans don’t know the difference between a democracy and a republic anyway) Screamingly stupid people can and do find their way into positions of power. People who talk about “dignity of the office”, but only in reference to a party or politician they dislike, are either idiots or journalists (but I repeat myself). They should be kicked in the Gators and have Guam dropped on their head.

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Gator Fans In Congress

Dave Barry has the “mocking Florida” situation well in hand. For that public service we should all thank him. A while ago I bought his first pure fiction book: Big Trouble. It was excellent and I recommend it to everyone. (My dog would like to note that the book was released in 1999 and I probably read it then. My dog insists that 18 years is not “a while”. I would like to note that my dog is overly pedantic and will not get a treat after dinner tonight.)

After I read the book I eagerly awaited the move; called (creatively enough) Big Trouble. I loved the movie too. I recommend it to everyone as well. The movie playfully satirized just about everything Floridian. I think we can all agree that’s a task that needs doing.

Unfortunately, a portion of the plot involved lambasting inept airport security. With cosmic levels of bad luck, the movie was scheduled to be released on September 21, 2001. Ten days before the movie’s release, America suddenly lost all sense of humor.

Dave Barry’s movie was good. He should be living in a solid gold house. But life isn’t like that.

So, why am I rambling about a decades old movie? Because of Gator fans. Here’s a clip from the movie:

You know who else is a Gator fan? Former United States Congresswoman Corrine Brown.  She’s the one that reminded me of the menace of Gator fans. Mrs. Brown served in Congress from 1993 until she lost in 2016. Recently, in an event which I desperately want to believe would have happened no matter what party won (because to think otherwise is depressing), she was convicted of tax fraud involving a bogus charity (it sounded like an open and shut case). This Monday she was sentenced to 5 years.

More to the point, she’s a Gator fan and therefore should be mocked. In particular, at 2:20 she utters a sentence that I still, after playing it several times, cannot decode. What the fuck is she saying? The whole thing is 3:38, listen for yourself:

Yep, that’s a real Congressperson spending time at a podium during Congressional activities in 2009. She’s imparting the following crucial information:

“One, two, three, four, five, them there Gators don’t take no jive!”

Who needs to study the great philosophers? Cato the Elder, Seneca the Younger, Aristotle, Plato? Get real! All we need to know is Gators don’t take no jive. Bask in the glory of her words and wonder at the manifest excellent in governance before you!

Hat tip to Barnhardt and PJ Media and of course the great philosopher of our day, Dave Barry.

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Grand Tour: Waiting For Friday

I’ve been busier than a one-armed paper hanger (hence the infrequent posts). However, I’ve blocked out a single hour in my overclocked insane unreasonable hectic schedule for my favorite show; Grand Tour. It starts again December 8th and I can’t wait:

I heartily recommend Grand Tour for the following reasons:

  • Man did not invent the internal combustion engine simply to forget about it and navel gaze on Facebook.
  • The “plot” of the show is to drive loud things fast. They do it for no reason other than joy; as God intended. I feel oppressed daily as nitwits tell me I should embrace the self driving car while paying for the latest light rail bond initiative and installing more speed bumps. I have to count to ten and remember that somewhere on earth the three fools from Grand Tour are happily blowing 30 liters of petrol just to start the engine of a wheeled creation that costs more than my house. Grand Tour is proof we’re not fully overrun by the humorless Borg-like hive mind of urbane human widgets that seem so numerous.
  • So long as someone with a welder is doing something foolish, I’m not alone.
  • They kill machinery in colorful ways that make the Dukes of Hazzard’s rein of terror on ’69 Dodge Chargers look like child’s play.
  • None of them are idiots. Fine; they’re boyish, boorish, and bullshitters. But not idiots. They’re unlike the other 50 channels of room temperature IQ Ophrabots and Sportsballers.
  • When Clarkson got fired from BBC for being an ass he, May, and Hammond promptly regrouped on Amazon. Thus, proving that private enterprise is awesome, the BBC are soulless harridans, and it’s fun to make bank.
  • Clarkson is an ass. Not a whining little shithead who wants your vote or an apologetic wheedling little pansy, just an old fashioned ass. A loud one too. One with a budget. Who likes to blow shit up. It’s brilliant.
  • May is proof that you can be a nerd yet still get to be famous and drive supercars. He also demonstrates the universal truth that “hold my beer” (or in Clarksonesque British-speak “how hard can it be”) will usually override a thoughtful discourse of weight, balance, and engineering principles.
  • Hammond is proof that there are “Americans in spirit” that will inexplicably buy American muscle cars to drive around England.
  • They go outlandish places in vehicles that are maladapted to the situation. They do this simply so I can enjoy the ensuing mess. They’re the reason I daydream of a motorcycle trip in Namibia. God bless em!
  • The anti-binge-watch effect: Last year Amazon put out the show a week at a time (at least that’s how I remember it). Thus, I got to savor it a little at a time. Netflix’s method, delivery as if it were a load of gravel in a dump truck, turned the excellent Stranger Things into a headlong overdose that killed a weekend. I outgrew binge-watching shortly after wearing out a stack of VHS tapes when Twin Peaks went off the air in 1991. (Note: there’s no reason I can’t savor a “delivered en masse” Netflix product (as I do with BoJack Horseman which nobody in the house likes save me) but for Stranger Things it wasn’t my call.)
  • Being Brits, they say things like “bloody hell” and “bollocks”. It pays to expand your vocabulary.

If you’re of a like mind, check it out. Think of it as an early Christmas moment for the “gearheads and fun” audience.

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I Can Honestly Say My Fake News Is Due Only To Incompetence

I made an editorial mistake in my last story. By the time you read this it will have been corrected. However, in the interest of transparency I’ll mention it here:

  • Rand Paul is from Kentucky and he was injured in a “landscaping disagreement”. (The wombat and pencil sharpener thing is not yet public knowledge.)
  • Paul Ryan is from Wisconsin and he was not injured in a “landscaping disagreement”. I’ve changed the text and apologize for the mistake.
  • Harry Reid is from Nevada and he was injured in what he claimed to be “an attack by exercise equipment”. (The wombat and pencil sharpener thing is not yet public knowledge.) Harry Reid is also a lizard creature from Alpha Centauri.

Now if you’ll excuse me I’ve got a 16 pound turkey to eat. Carry on.

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TurkeyBoobs, A Thanksgiving Story: Part 3 of 3

What happens next is one of those black swan events that nobody (except Cokie Roberts) saw coming. Delightfully, this one made the world a better place.

Suddenly, possibly due to climate change, a blizzard swept in and blocked every street. Meanwhile the local cell service went down. For the first time in years (possibly their entire lives) the folks in Trump’s audience found themselves totally without instructions on what to do next. Meanwhile, zombies and Paul Ryan appeared and began to circle the White House.

Things look grim as the crowd stands there looking like especially stupid sheep. While the Secret Service expertly maintains a safe perimeter, they can’t coax the crowd to evacuate, or even go inside. The Secret Service has exceeded this year’s carbon emissions and thus can’t use a helicopter or vehicle to move people. They’ll just have to walk. Neither politicians nor the press are keen to do anything even remotely physical or practical, even if their life depends on it.

Not entirely unexpectedly, they’re ill-suited for the end times and they start to drop like flies. Any damn fool can get by for a while, even in bad conditions, but not so for DC Swamp Dwellers! Within eleven minutes, supplies of bottled water, tofu snacks, and Adderall have run out. Within the first hour, 80% of the assembled Congressmembers have starved. Nobody knows how a grown person can starve to death in less than two hours but Congress is up to the task! Some folks theorize that Congressional budgeting has trained them to burn through calories in mathematically improbably ways.

Fortunately, Trump is one with the twitterverse and therefore does not need to eat; he just hangs around buffering 140-character bits of wisdom for future use. The few remaining politicians with the tiniest hint of common sense slowly begin to work together. The press, at the first sign of common sense among politicians, commit suicide in a great screaming heap of irrelevancy. With few exceptions they’re all dead within minutes.

Cokie Roberts, sighing at the stupidity of it all, notices a few interns who are insufficiently indoctrinated to die at the thought of cooperation. She instructs them to toss the bodies to the zombies outside the White House barricades. “This happens all the time” she explains. The zombies are seeking brains and therefore want nothing to do with a pile of politicians and journalists. Meanwhile Ann Coulter grabs a stick and with a battle cry that would make Thor pee himself, starts stabbing zombies in an epic bloody rampage. “That happens too”, Cokie explains. The interns are learning a lot today. Cokie decides she’ll explain about the pencil sharpener and the wombat if they make it through the week.

Meanwhile, as a solution to standing in the snow and shivering, Congress informally drafts a select subcommittee to rediscover the secret of fire. This doesn’t work at all. Eventually a nearby janitor explains the whole thing. He also tries to get them to “get out of the goddamn snow and go inside” but that confuses them and they refuse.

Luckily it doesn’t matter. Bipartisanship is a powerful force for civilization and soon a bonfire is crackling merrily on the White House steps. It’s fed amply by the interns who, under Cokie’s direction, periodically disappear into the White House and emerge with armloads of unread regulatory paperwork.

Meanwhile, Trump, with his savant-like ability to see directly into the internet, has tuned to a website called “The Turkey’s Dead, Now What” and is reciting butchering instructions to Congress. The greatest minds in DC, after hours of study, eventually manage to butcher the bird. They’re all pleased to be as skilled as the average nine-year-old Amish boy.

Trump magnanimously invites anyone who’s present to join him for the “most awesomest Thanksgiving feast in the history of everything ever”. Then he tunes his mind directly into the internet trying to find out “how very great smart incredible Americans should cook this thing”. A Secret Service member makes a mental note to hire a nine-year-old Amish boy, especially if he knows how to cook, for just such situations. He glances over the crowd and makes another mental note to keep the child away from almost everyone in Congress.

The ensuing Thanksgiving dinner is delicious and everyone is happy. Except two PETA protesters that appear out of nowhere. Obviously, they’re thrown on the fire. A single octo, ovo, gluten free, vegan, localvore, emerges from the scant remaining press corps. She’s promptly fed to the zombies; who don’t like the taste.

The remaining members of congress mellow out and sit around the fire after the best meal of the year. They’re telling stories and drinking and acting like normal human beings. The snow looks beautiful. Cokie explains to the interns that this happens periodically in America; usually about once every few decades. That’s why we’re not currently living in mud huts. Alas the periodic correction has been a long time coming this cycle, which explains a lot. Cokie admits that she secretly invested in a mud hut factory several years ago but she’s happy to take the loss.

The zombies wander off to a nearby university where they seek ‘braiiiins’ in vain and eventually starve to death; though it’s rumored that several enrolled and got degrees in journalism. Rand Paul, who’s having the worst month in history, was subsequently runover by a Zamboni. Nobody seems to know why. There was a wombat painted on the machine. Don’t ask!

Within 24 hours, peace has broken out planet wide, as each nation, seeing Trump and his hair inexpertly aiming at a turkey, has a new appreciation for just how batshit crazy Americans really are. Except of course Vladimir Putin who is absolutely giddy to see someone with balls running any county anywhere. The unknown blogger remains blissfully aware of this; only pausing to muse at a Slate article titled “Turkeys Are Made Of Food, Who Knew?” and wonder what inspired such an insipid topic.

Merry Thanksgiving Y’all!

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