As I explained in my last post, I was in a foul mood all week. In fact, I wasn’t even going to post today.
But this morning, everything changed. I turned on the news and Ukraine is still standing. Its people are defending themselves, fighting for their freedom with everything they have. Meanwhile, I was feeling sorry for myself because I had a bad week. How self-absorbed is that?
Halfway around the world people just like me, are fighting an existential war. There is killing and dying on both sides and … It hit me hard. I really don’t do much, not much at all. I drive a bus. How insignificant is that?
What I do has no effect and does nothing to help the people who are hiding in bomb shelters to survive a needless war. A war waged against the innocent and provoked by insipid weakness. Putin is guilty of waging war on a country that did nothing wrong. But Biden is guilty of provoking the war by being insipidly weak. He imposes sanctions that do too little—too late, and then buys Russian oil. Yes, the United States is still buying Russian oil because of Biden’s domestic energy policy. If you finance an insane tyrant, don’t you share in his blame? Think about it.
So simply put. Guilt has me at the keyboard. Even if I only reach half a dozen, it’s something … at the very least.
Please watch the entire video below and listen to Olena Gnes. Yesterday, her children were in school. Today, she is hiding them in a bomb shelter.
And when I say everyone, I mean the seven or eight followers I have that actually read my posts.
Yeah. Don’t worry. I have no delusions of grandeur. Dreams yes, but I know that when it comes to being read on the internet, you need celebrity first. People really don’t give a damn what a lowly bus driver in Florida has to say. However, it is important for you to note, free speech is still alive and well in the Free State of Florida. And I’m a perfect example.
If you count yourself among the seven or eight who actually look forward to my posts, then I’m sorry about missing last week. As I’ve explained in the past, real-life sometimes gets in the way, taking precedence over blogging.
Personally, it makes me miserable when that happens, and the past week was pretty rough as far as attitude is concerned. I know, especially in light of current world events, not being able to write seems a poor excuse for allowing yourself to feel miserable. And you’re right, unless the reason you spend your week driving a bus is so you can spend your weekends writing.
I guess you need to be a writer to understand but, this is my life, or what’s left of it.
PS – Just to give you an idea of my level of sacrifice, as of last month, I could make more money working a register at Walmart than I can driving a bus. This is yet another example of my precipitous spiral downward, fueled by poor decisions and the cruelty of fate. I should probably quit my job and go work for the Walton Family.
It’s the Monday after, and Super Bowl LVI (56) is history. No, I really didn’t have a horse in this race, so when that happens, I always root for the underdog, in this case, the Bengals. Sometimes it works and I win. Sometimes it doesn’t and I lose. But it was a good game, and that’s all that really mattered to me.
That said. My conservative eye made note of a few interesting observations. For example, I didn’t see any homeless people and their associated squalor anywhere near the stadium. In the Socialist State of California, that just can’t be right.
That was outside SoFi stadium, but inside there were tens of thousands of people, all within a foot or two of each other, but I didn’t see tens of thousands of masks, and this is in a state and city with draconian mask mandates.
As for the game, I was happy to see that the NFL did televise the national anthem because Mickey Guyton was great. I would link to it, but the NFL won’t allow me to, so you’ll have to do your own search if you missed it.
As for the game itself, it was good. With all the great games leading up to the Super Bowl, there was a good chance this one would be a dud. But the Rams and the Bengals delivered, so I can’t complain.
Finally, there’s the halftime show: can’t say that I’m a fan. It was full of glitz and over-the-top production, as you’d expect. But as far as talent goes, jumping around from one side of the stage to the other while holding your crotch and shouting incoherently is something I did when I was three. And from all reports, I did it naked.
And then there’s Eminem taking a knee, which brings us right back to the NFL caving on sideline progressive politics. Hasn’t Roger Goodell learned anything yet? Leave politics out of football, and that includes halftime shows. BTW, Roger, do you know how many times the N-word was used during the twelve-minute show (performers and fans)? Where’s your CRT when you really need it? Hmmm???
PS – Eminem, didn’t you get the memo America sent? Keep politics out of the NFL.
On the way home from work the other day, I was listening to the Jesse Kelly Show. If you’ve never heard of him and you’re curious, check him out on iHeart radio jessekellyshow.com. Anyway, he was doing a foot-in-mouth segment and invited the audience to call in. I work a ten-hour day, it was late, and I was listening in my truck on the way home, so I didn’t call. But it did remind me of a funny incident that happened to me.
Years ago, I think it was a Saturday, and the family was hanging out in the living room. We were going through boxes of stuff to give away. Most of it was old kid clothes, some toys, and other miscellaneous items. It was actually a fun time, nostalgic too. That is until I inadvertently screwed everything up.
I had just reached for another box and opened it up. Inside, was a pair of blue jean shorts. This wouldn’t be particularly unique except for one thing, they were enormous. These jean shorts were definitely not kid-sized unless the kid was huge.
I held them up and asked, “Whose are these? I bet I could fit in them”.
The kids looked and immediately started to giggle. “They’re not mine…” “They’re not mine either.” They certainly weren’t going to take credit for this monstrosity.
I giggled too, and joked, “Seriously, I think these would fit me.” Soon there were chants from the peanut gallery. Put them on… Put them on…
Some FYI stuff for context. First, I’m not skin and bones, also, I’m not obese. I do work out and even jog on occasion, but for the most part, I’m a medium build. That said. The wife is a dime (a ten in ‘70s vernacular). She was a ten when I met her, and a ten when we divorced. Now, back to the story.
So I yuck it up with the kids by doing a little back-and-forth. Should I put them on…? No, maybe I shouldn’t… Well, maybe I should, just to see if they fit.
They were laughing their heads off and egging me on. Finally, I make the fatal decision to give the kids what they desperately want. I put on the shorts.
Viola. Not only did the pants fit, but there was also room to spare, except for the crotch, a very important fact to remember. While I could move around in the pants, I couldn’t sit or bend over because the crotch was really tight. I figured they were kid jeans, why wouldn’t it be tight. Still, the shorts were big enough that I could zip everything up.
Okay. There I am, prancing around the living room in these enormous kid jeans. The kids are falling off the couch laughing. I’m laughing too. Then, I look over at the wife, and she ….. She is shooting me with lightning bolts, daggers, and poison darts, all at the same time. Her eyes were on fire. She is so angry that the vein on the side of her neck looked like an inner tube ready to pop. I could see it pulsing from across the room.
I didn’t know what I did wrong, but I figured I better end it now. So I say to the kids, “Okay, that’s enough. We still have a bunch of boxes to go through.”
And to show that I meant business—and to score a feeble point with the wife, I took the pants off right there in front of everyone. Oh, did I forget to mention that the pants were so big they even fit over the pants I was already wearing? Yes, I suppose I did.
Anyway, I hold up the pants, look at the wife, and ask again, “Whose pants are these?”
She looks me straight in the eye and says in that low, simmering, angry voice all women have—“They’re mine.”
Yes. It seems that before I met the wife, there was a period of time when she was obese. A period of time I never knew about.
PS – I’m not saying that this led to my breakup, but I’m sure it didn’t help. And yes, revenge is best served ….. in enormous blue jean shorts.