Blog #172

Strap yourself in, Boys and Girls.  This could be a rough one.  I’m not sure what to be afraid of most.  People wearing masks, people not wearing masks.  Eating outside with humidity and bugs, eating inside with (ugh) people.  Eating Aunt Jemima syrup, eating Rice Krispies.  That’s right, they want to get rid of Rice Krispies because Snap, Crackle and whatshisname are all white.  We can’t have Uncle Ben’s Rice because there’s a black guy on the box and we can’t have Rice Krispies because there are white people on the box.  No Eskimo Pies either. 

There are so many disturbing trends going on, I don’t know who to attack first.  Let’s start with baseball players.  I’ve been ragging on them for weeks, but we still don’t have a plan for Major League Baseball.  Well, maybe we do, but they’re still not sure.  The millionaire players and billionaire owners are arguing about money.  There’s a pandemic, a recession and an insurrection going on.  Everyone is more depressed than Elizabeth Warren’s campaign manager.  We need our National Pastime to cheer us up.  Nope, greed is apparently more important.  Even if they come back, I’m no longer interested in supporting them.

The MLB’s making no plans

This year they’ll just sit on their hands.

Let’s throw them a curve,

Give them what they deserve:

No hits and no runs and no fans!

This country is awash in hatred.  Some people, at the drop of a hat, are ready to hate anyone for any reason.  And I hate people like that.  The Democrats hate the Republicans, the Republicans hate the Democrats, the Blacks hate the Whites, the Whites hate the Blacks and everybody hates Columbus.  I’m not sure why everybody is so anti-Columbus, but it doesn’t matter because his statues are coming down, along with those of Washington, Jefferson and Lincoln.

Message from Shakespeare:  When wasteful war shall statues overturn (Sonnet 55).  I like the lion statues at the City Hall in University City, MO.  I always wanted to be a lion.  Now I’m just a-lyin’ on the couch.

Aren’t you happy there’s not a statue of you anywhere?  Nothing is safe from the hatred that has possessed this country.  Here are a few statues that are sure to be victimized next:

In Metropolis, IL, there is a two-ton statue of Superman that is scheduled to be destroyed by the hate-group WALL, an acronym for We Adore Lex Luthor.

Then there’s Blue Earth, MN, the home to the 55-foot statue of the Jolly Green Giant which is, as we speak, being torn down by a group who claim to hate vegetables.  The group’s name is Kiss My Asparagus. 

And where are the Jews during all this?  Why aren’t we out marching?  I know the old line -- Jews don’t march, they shop.  Charles Lindbergh was a vocal proponent of Anti-Semitism and conciliation toward Hitler.  Why aren’t the Jews demanding the destruction of Lindbergh statues?  Why aren’t we out there demanding that any street named after Lindbergh be changed.  Why aren’t we carrying signs that say SIX MILLION LIVES MATTER.  I believe the Jews know something about slavery and discrimination as well.

And, of course, there’s politics.  It looks more and more likely that Trump can be defeated in November by anyone with half a brain.  And the Democrats have just the right guy.  Seriously, in a country of 330 million people, these are the two best and brightest?  Well, Hell, if someone has to run this Cuckoo’s Nest we call America, it might as well be one of the inmates.

Hi there and welcome back.  Am I in enough trouble yet?  I hope you’re feeling well and looking sharp, at least the ones who haven’t turned me off yet.  I’m sorry to be so acrimonious*, but you’re probably as frustrated as I am.  This country is in the middle of its worst pandemic, its second worst depression and its worst civil insurrection – all at the same time -- and who are our choices to lead us out of this accumulated evil?  Beavis and Butt-Head.

WEEKLY WORD: acrimonious means angry and bitter, kind of like how I feel when I play golf.

I did play golf last week and I asked the Pro if he could find me someone to play with, preferably someone with good vision.  I have trouble seeing the ball.  He told me he had the perfect partner – Syd.  “Syd is 97-years-old.  He doesn’t hit it very far and he plays slowly, but his eyesight is unbelievable.”  Sounded fine with me and we went to tee off.  I said, “Syd, you going to watch my ball for me?”  He replied with a big smile, “Yes I will, young man.”  I loved him already.  “I will see it when you hit it; I will see it in the air; and I will see it when it lands.”  So I hit my driver, and it sounded good, but I lost sight of it immediately.  I turned to Syd with a querulous look.  “Young man,” he said with a smile, “I saw it when you hit it; I saw it in the air; I saw it when it landed.”  I was impressed, and when we got in the cart, I said, “Syd, you’re 97-years-old.  I can’t believe your eyesight is so exceptional.”  “Believe it, young man.  I saw it when you hit it; I saw it in the air; and I saw it when it landed.”  I smiled and said, “Ok, Syd, I believe you.  Where is it?”  He replied, “Young man, I’m 97-years-old.  I forgot.”

That was a joke, of course, but Carol and I did go out to play some golf.  The weather was beautiful, the course was fine, the other couple was fun.  My golf was dreadful.  I can play golf about as well as Lori Loughlin’s daughters can row.  Watching me play golf is like watching a snake trying to knit.  Maybe next time will be better.

And maybe next week’s blog will be better too.  Come back and see.  Until then, stay well, count your blessings and stay away from statues.

Michael                                    Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com