Blog #433                                June 26, 2025

 

The Zoo was packed with a few thousand people.  They were all shapes and sizes.  They were black and white and Asian and everything else.  There were women in halters and shorts, women in hijabs, girls in Catholic school uniforms.  Young couples abounded, some holding hands, some pushing strollers.  They were of every combination: black and white, purple and orange, tall and short, striped and polka-dot.  And not one of them wanted to blow anything up or shoot anybody.  No-one cared about the color or religion or sexual orientation of the people next to them.  Everyone was polite and excited and hungry.  And all the kids behaved themselves. They made faces at the lemurs, followed the strutting geese like rats following the Pied Piper and ate everything they could wheedle out of their parents.  And for a few hours everyone forgot about their job or the bully at school or their mother-in-law or the bills they couldn’t pay.  Everyone enjoyed the weather and the animals and even the old man with the green sash who gave them directions. When I’m at the Zoo I cannot resist an upwelling of love and faith in humanity.  Then I leave, turn on the car radio, listen to the news and realize how wrong I was.  It’s a shame we can’t all go to the Zoo.  The animals would love it if we do.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well.  It is officially Summer, which began on the longest day of the year, last Saturday.  Or was it Friday?  Or maybe Sunday?  Actually, the official start of Summer in the Northern Hemisphere was at 9:42 p.m. last Friday, Central Daylight Time.  Does anybody give a rat’s tush, other than a small coterie of egghead busybodies. who are, by the way, the same people who told us that hiding under your desk at school would protect you from a nuclear bomb and that Pluto was no longer a planet?  Thank you, guys.

 

I am writing at my desk and just bent over to pet Shakespeare, who is lying comfortably next to my chair.  As I did so, I happened to look under my desk.  If John Milton were writing Paradise Lost today, I’m certain that his choice for the location of Hell would be the space underneath my desk.  There are enough wires down there to reach Mars and enough plugs to populate Howie Mandel’s head.  There are eight “things” plugged in.  There’s a router and a modem and a computer and a printer and a lamp and my iPod and two other things that could be nuclear warheads for all I know.  I am so technically hapless that I could screw up a nail file.  If it has a wire, I’m guaranteed to put it in the wrong place.  It amazes me that I have children!  I’ll bet it looks just like that under your desk. 

 

Message from Shakespeare, the three-legged cat:  O comfort-killing Night, image of hell! (The Rape of Lucrece).  I wasn’t sitting by his chair because I’m the loving, wonderful creature he thinks I am.  I was there because, when he finally gets up, I will jump onto the seat where it’s all warmed up.  Don’t tell him.  Purr.

 

Coterie is a good Weekly Word.  It means a small group of people with shared interests and tastes.  Like all of us, I guess.

 

My wife was just talking to a friend who wanted to come over and pick up a book.  Carol said, “Just call when you get to the front and I’ll send Michael up with the book.”   Send Michael up with the book?  What am I, the Chinese butler in Auntie Mame?  I’ll send Hop Sing up with the book.  Oh, Hop Sing doesn’t care where we eat.  Oh, I’ll have Hop Sing pick up the movie tickets early.  Oh, Hop Sing, can you drop me off at the door; it’s raining.  Now don’t get all Ken Jennings on me because the Chinese butler in Auntie Mame was actually Ito.  I know that, but I like the name Hop Sing better.  Hop Sing was the cook on Ponderosa, and, speaking of Ponderosa, can you name all three Cartwright brothers?

 

For our anniversary a couple of weeks ago, Carol and I celebrated at my daughter Abby’s house.  Abby’s a great cook, and she prepared a wonderful meal which perfectly epitomized the spirit of our fifty-eight year partnership.  She made everything my wife liked.  Abby called her mother, asked what she should cook for the celebratory meal, and Carol rattled off all her favorites.  “Don’t worry about Hop Sing; he doesn’t care what he eats.”  That’s ok; I know my place.  For our next anniversary, we have agreed to get matching tattoos.  Mine will say “I Love Carol”.  So will hers.

 

We have finally found something as large as Donald Trump’s ego.  It’s called the Big Beautiful Bomb.  The Middle East story has characters just like a fairy tale, doesn’t it?  There’s poor little Cinderella (Israel) who has been beaten and bullied for years by the Mean Stepmother (Iran) and the Ugly Stepsisters (Hamas and Hezbollah).  Then along comes Donald Trump, the Fairy Godmother, who drops a Big Beautiful Bomb on the Wicked Stepmother and everyone lives happily ever after.

 

The Jews do not fear the Imam

‘Cause we have the 23^rd Psalm

By drones we’ve been peppered

But the Lord is our Shepherd

And Trump has the world’s biggest bomb.

 

Or

 

In Israel we all are calm

We know we won’t lose to Islam

We won’t run and hide

‘Cause Trump’s on our side

And he’s got the world’s biggest bomb.

 

Or

 

The Jews will not lose to Islam

‘Cause we have a Fairy God-Mom

Who’s big as an ox

With wavy, orange locks

And carries the world’s biggest bomb.

 

Except it’s not a fairy tale, is it?  It’s all very frightening.  Besides, the image of Donald Trump as a Fairy Godmother is a bit disturbing.  Let’s all pray for peace.

 

I’m sorry for the three limericks.  I couldn’t decide which one was my favorite.  What’s yours?

 

I guess it’s time to go now.  The three Cartwright brothers on Ponderosa were Adam, Hoss and Little Joe.  Have a nice week, stay well, stay cool and count your blessings.

 

Hop Sing                                 Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com