Blog #265                                         April 7, 2022

 

Things end. Let me repeat – Things End!  The Roman Empire ended; Egypt of the Pharaohs is no more; The Ottoman, Mongol and Aztec Empires live only in history books.  Even Breaking Bad ended.  And the powerful and glorious experiment in freedom that is America can and will go the way of the Pharaohs.  Is that scary?  I think so, especially when watching how our government has turned into two gangs of six-year-olds shouting at each other on the playground.  Politics is corrupt and horrible!  Just look at its Latin origins:  poli meaning many and tics meaning blood-sucking parasites.

 

And it’s not just the politicians fighting over Supreme Court Justices and Supreme Court Justices’ wives and what Donald Trump might have said.  It’s everything!  It’s Will Smith and Disney and so many other things.

 

Barack Obama famously said, “If they bring a knife to the fight, we bring a gun.”  Will Smith has apparently interpreted that to mean if they bring a joke, I bring my fist.  How crazy is that?  Don Rickles and Jackie Mason would be rolling (hysterically of course) in their graves.  They insulted everyone. 

 

And I don’t even know how to talk about the new Disney policy.  In the Washington Free Beacon, I read this:  The Walt Disney Company is eliminating the words "ladies," "gentlemen," "boys," and "girls" in its theme parks, Diversity and Inclusion Manager Vivian Ware announced.  Diversity and Inclusion Manager?  It seems that inclusivity nowadays is all about excluding things we can say or watch.  I guess we should start practicing the song, Some Day My Asexual Royal Person Will Come.  And I guess the names of movies will have to change.  Lady and the Tramp will become Canine and the Tramp.  The Lion King will become The Lion.  And The Little Mermaid will become The Little Fish-Looking Thing.  Or maybe all those movies will just be banned and every kindergarten class will have a Diversity and Inclusion Manager and every children’s story will start out with Once upon a time, there were bad people who said bad things like “Boys and girls” or “Princes and Princesses.”

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well.  You could all hate me for that, but I will proceed under the assumption that, even though having fun has been outlawed for kids, it has not yet been banned for Senior Citizens.

 

At lunch today, I opened a can of food for Shakespeare.  Salmon in gravy – yum!  He didn’t like it; he didn’t want it; he wouldn’t touch it, even with one paw.  I felt awful.  Apparently, cat food can be gravy or grilled or flaked or pâté.  He only likes the pâté and I had bought the wrong kind.  Well, he’s my baby, so I put on my coat and ran to the store to buy what he liked.  I used my Senior GPS.  It not only tells you where you’re going, it reminds you of why you wanted to go there in the first place.  When I got home, I opened the new can for him.  He was happy.  I was relieved.  Carol was chuckling.  “Well, I do the same for you,” I told her.  “Yes you do, Honey,” she replied with a big Cheshire Cat grin on her face, “and all I have to do is purr.” 

 

Message from Shakespeare: Thy food is such as hath been belch’d on by infected lungs (Pericles, Prince of Tyre).  What’s a Cheshire Cat?  Must be something from one of those Disney movies I’m not allowed to watch.  I’m a Chesterfield Cat, and I purr much better than Carol does, although we both purr for the same reason – to get the old man to do what we want.  He’s such a good boy.  Purr (see, it's better).

 

The last few weeks have been marred with sadness; we attended several funerals of friends or relations of friends.  Very sad.  One of the graveside services was held during a rainstorm.  Have you ever been to a funeral in the rain?  No-one, of course, would complain.

The family and friends gathered round

At the grave with the rain pouring down

Each one, you can bet,

Would rather be wet

Than dry, in a box, in the ground.

 

May the earth rest lightly on those in the box.  Sorry if that limerick was a bit stark.

 

Late last night, I found Carol in a panic.  No, that is not a small electric car.  She had misplaced a new bottle of medication and, finding it nowhere, had come to the conclusion that the bottle had been thrown into the trash.  I would never gainsay the deductive powers of my Sherlock Fox.  She purred, and guess who went rummaging through the garbage.  That’s right – faithful Dr. Watson.  Now sifting through the trash of a suburban American home is very interesting, albeit smelly.  I went through every piece of trash: an empty Peter Pan Creamy jar (I don’t trust people who eat chunky peanut butter), discarded razors, a tube of toothpaste squeezed so flat that if you turned it sideways it vanished, plus offers for pre-approved credit cards from four different banks.  All told, my trash can was pre-approved for three million dollars.  Interspersed among these generally inoffensive items were banana peels and rotted apple cores, Pasta House “to go” containers and the various other examples of the noxious detritus of a wasteful domicile.  But lo!  There, near the end, in the last corner of the last can was a pill vial.  Dare I hope?  I reached for it.  It rattled.  I brought it inside, wiped off the linguini melanzane and presented it to Sherlock herself.  She was pleased.  Next time I go looking for something, I’m going to start in the final, most remote place.  That’s where it always is, isn’t it?

And this is where I always am – every Thursday, every week.  Sometimes I make you smile; sometimes I make you angry.  As long as I make you come back.  If I do happen to make you angry, you can always call Will Smith and hire him to come beat me up.  You can find him on Slapchat. 

Weekly Word:  Gainsay means to doubt or contradict.  You wouldn’t gainsay me about that, would you?  Stay well please, count your blessings and pray for the Ukrainians.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com