Blog #357                                        January 11, 2024

 

This sad world is full of hatred, isn’t it?  Like the words from the old Tom Lehrer song:

 

          Oh, the Protestants hate the Catholics

          And the Catholics hate the Protestants

          And the Hindus hate the Moslems

          And everybody hates the Jews.

 

Tom Lehrer is kind of my hero.  He was a mathematics professor and a writer of outrageously clever songs about political and newsworthy topics.  Yes, I stole the lyrics from his song above, but if the President of Harvard can do it, so can I. 

 

The song was called National Brotherhood Week and was written about 60 years ago.  Not much has changed.  I am not a believer in the “Let’s just all hold hands and everything will be alright” philosophy.  Hatred and jealousy and envy just seem to be part of human nature.  We need to stay close with our families and our friends and our traditions.

 

You’re my family and friends, right?  Hi there, welcome back and thank you for all the birthday wishes you sent last week.  I hope you’re feeling full of happiness and full of spunk.  By now you know that I am full of something, so let’s see what it is.   First of all, I apologize for the depressing diatribe with which I began.  Let’s get started with a Weekly Word.  A diatribe is a forceful and bitter attack against someone or something.

 

I have some thoughts about changing the world.  We need to replace some of the world leaders.  Here’s my plan. To replace the Ayatollah, send Joy Behar to Iran.  At least that would get her away from here.  We’ll call her the Joyatollah.  I’d send Whoopi, but I’m not sure the Iranians are ready to be ruled by somebody named Goldberg.  To replace the President, Harry and Meghan, of course.  The White House is a little small for them, but they’re looking for a new place to live and the American people adore them already.   And England?  Well, I miss Elizabeth. England needs a new Queen.  My wife would be perfect.  She’s had a lot of practice, and I guarantee you the Changing of the Guard would not take more than thirty seconds.  She likes the idea. 

 

I’ll drink from a solid gold chalice

And rule all the world without malice

Get my face in the news

And import a few Jews

To play mahjong in Buckingham Palace.

 

I’m not sure where that would leave me.  Court Jester, I suppose.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown (Henry IV, Part2).  They should make me king of the world.  I’d make a law that says everybody has to nap for 18 hours a day.  Less time to get into trouble.  Purr.

 

Did you love the Golden Globes on Sunday?  I didn’t watch it at all.  Award shows are sycophantic, narcissistic, anti-government, unentertaining publicity parties put on by people who think parading your butt in a thong bikini is a measure of talent.  And those are my good comments.  But my wife was glued to them.  She likes to see what all the stars wear. 

 

I’m sorry, that should be “who” those skinny, pasty actresses are wearing.  As if any of us commoners could afford a de la Renta.  Most of the women I know couldn’t even afford to rent a de la Renta or get their foot in the Dior.   Or pronounce Hermes.  The last time anyone asked me “who” I was wearing, I answered Fred Flintstone.

 

As I said, I didn’t watch the awards, but it wouldn’t have surprised me if Robert De Niro had been there saying F*** Trump six times and Gwyneth Paltrow had started telling us how the government is corrupting our youth while she’s selling vagina-scented candles on her website.

 

You know I love getting comments from you.  They’re great feedback and often very helpful.  C.M. read my tale last week of moving my plant to give it more light at night and corrected me by suggesting I leave the plant in the dark at night.  She’s pretty smart about plants, so I have begun to do that.  And the story about my psychoanalysis prompted several of you to call for more personal stuff about me.  How about some personal stuff about Carol?  Does that count?  I told you that last week we went to the neighborhood pot dispensary to get my wife something to help her sleep.  I can’t remember the name of the place, but it was something like PotSmart or Burlington Toke Factory or Grass Pro Shop.  Well, here’s the scoop:  she tried one of the CBN Gummies and had a terrible reaction.  Nausea, dizziness, strange hallucinations and no sleep at all.  There’s no joke here.  That was the truth.  Ask her.  She’ll be happy to tell you how awful it was.  She loves to tell juicy and scandalous stories over and over again.  I only have to tell a story once, right here, and it gets to hundreds of people all at once.  Saves a lot of time.

 

Just one more thing before I let you get back to your busy and fascinating Thursday.  I was looking through my saved letters that I have been writing to my daughters every week for the last 27 years.  Sometimes they remind me of old stories that I might share with you.  In a letter from the first week of September, 2001, the week before 9/11, I noticed this entry from Sep 8:

 

At 8:30, we met the Rosenbaums and Hodes for dinner at Café Napoli. 

 

8:30 for dinner?  Unthinkable!  Were we so energetic and carefree, so full of frivolity and frolic in our middle age that we would dine at such a late hour like some Spanish aristocrat?  Last week on New Year’s Eve, we had dinner at 6:30 like proper old folks.  Just thinking of it makes me sleepy.  I’d better go.  

 

This week I’ve insulted Protestants, Catholics, Hindus, Moslems, Joy Behar, Robert De Niro and Gwyneth Paltrow.  I couldn’t be in more trouble if I had gone to a Trump rally dressed as Barbra Streisand.  I’ll have my legal staff prepare a disingenuous apology.   I’ll be back in a week and I expect to see you here.  Until then, stay well, count your blessings and put that thong bikini away.  Trust me.

 

 Jester                                       Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com