I know this is last week’s news, but I wanted to add my two cents because I haven’t heard anyone else point out a blaring fact.
First, let’s discuss the obvious.
The parents are stupid. No Six-year-old should be running a marathon. Even if the kid wants to do it with all his ignorant heart and soul, this is where parenting comes in and both mom and dad say, NO. You can’t run a marathon. You’re too young. Wait until you grow up.
That didn’t happen. Colossal fail.
The organizers of the event are stupid. When parents fail their responsibilities, it’s the organizers who need to pick up the ball and run with it. See what I did there? By enforcing minimum standards for qualification and safety such as age, say eighteen years or older, Junior doesn’t run. But when the people in charge don’t set reasonable rules or make regulations and then don’t enforce them, the judge of culpability rears its ugly head. What if that kid had to be hospitalized or worse? Colossal fail for the Flying Pig coordinators.
Then there’s the psychological and physical abuse this child suffered while hundreds, if not thousands, were firsthand witnesses, and no one did anything to stop it. Colossal fail.
But Davyd these topics have already been talked about by the major media outlets. You mentioned something missed by most if not all of them.
Yes. Yes, I did and here it is. I’ve linked to a video of it on ABC (not a frequent source of information on this blog for obvious reasons). Click below:
OK! Enough games. Here’s the punch line. For every step mom and dad take, Junior takes two and a half. The six-year-old didn’t run one marathon; he ran two marathons plus half of another and he did it all at once.
Everyone involved should be ashamed.
P.S. – You need a license to drive a car or get married, but no license is required to be a parent. Regarding these two parents (watch the video again), COLOSSAL FAIL.
Abortion is one of the headline topics of the current news cycle and Tyrus (on the Clay and Buck show) voiced his opinion. I heard the segment during my lunch break last week. Tyrus was candid about the fact that his mother chose not to abort him, a win for the pro-life side.
My two favorites on Gutfeld.
The conversation continued and Tyrus commented on the Supreme Court leak regarding the draft opinion reversing Roe vs. Wade. He said, “I don’t have a dog in that fight”.
I took that to mean he doesn’t have standing when it comes to a woman’s decision to abort. The phrase stuck with me and I began to wonder, what if he did have a dog in the fight? Would he then have standing?
It took me a while to work through the conundrum but this is what I came up with. Despite the current liberal dribble to the contrary, it still takes a man and a woman to become pregnant the way nature intended. So, a woman discovers that she’s pregnant. She begins to consider her options and one of those options is whether or not to tell the father. If the mother elects to tell the father, does that mean he has a dog in the fight? Does he have standing? What if the mother is the father’s wife and she elects not to tell him. Does that mean he doesn’t have a dog in the fight? Does that mean he has no standing?
I’m just scratching the surface here. There are countless scenarios, but all have two things in common. A life is (naturally) created by a man and a woman. And, a woman has a choice: she chooses whether or not, to tell the truth. The question is; does the truth or a lie by omission, change a man’s standing?
Personally, I think men in general are lazy about this issue. If they get a woman pregnant, they’re more than just a little relieved when she handles it on her own. The less involved they are, the more relieved. I think women are lazy about the issue too. Pregnancy, as well as giving birth, are both hard work, and that’s just the beginning. None of this speaks to what’s right and just. It doesn’t speak to what’s moral and decent. It does speak to the poor values instilled by parents … and taking the easy way out on both sides of the equation.
P.S. – Tyrus. If somehow you get the opportunity to read this, I would greatly appreciate some clarification.
I’ve waited to weigh in on this topic because I wanted all the facts before delivering the pearls of wisdom my posts are known for. And it appears the issue has been laid to rest. Will Smith is barred from the Academy and its events for ten years. I’ll leave it up to you to decide if that’s a punishment or a blessing.
First, let’s address the elephant in the room. For god’s sake, the man lets other men sleep with his wife, and I’m sure he sleeps with other women. While it’s none of my business what people do within their relationships, if you make those relationships public, you invite criticism, you lower the bar of decency, and you expose the whole matter along with the people involved, to a joke or two.
In all honesty, I’m not a fan of the Academy Awards and didn’t watch the show. I heard about it while watching the news on TV. My first impression was that it’s part of the show. It was staged, a means to make the Academy and the Oscar Award meaningful to the average Joe and Jane once again. And let’s not forget the average G.I. Joe and G.I. Jane (hehehe).
Regardless of the victims’ choice about pressing charges, If you or I did the same thing, we’d both be in jail for at least a day and there would be a bail bond as part of our release. Remember, the world was an eyewitness, no victim testimony is required. I suspect that Chris Rock knew he didn’t have to press charges and it made an easy decision even easier. Kudos to him.
So, in conclusion, if your wife suffers from alopecia and chooses to go out in public looking like G.I. Jane rather than wear a wig, then she’s making a public statement and people have a right to comment. The joke was about her appearance, not her affliction. I think more than anything else, the slap heard around the world speaks more about the dynamics of the Smith marriage. Read into that what you Will (hehehe).
PS – If someone offended my wife to the point that I needed to take action, it would’ve been a right cross, not a lady-slap.
PPS – Didn’t he play Muhammad Ali (Cassius Clay for those of us old enough to remember)? Lady-slap? I guess the guy is a good actor.
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.
On Tuesday, January 25, 2022, Officer Wilbert Mora succumbed to his injuries. We are saddened by the loss and our prayers go out to his family and friends.
This is the second time I’ve had to write about the NYPD incident and as far as I know, there are no reports as to why and how it occurred. My main question is this. Was it a setup and how complicit is McNeil’s mother? I don’t know the answer, I’m just asking.
All the media will say is that there are investigations.
I know what you’re thinking. The mother was just an innocent victim. Her involvement is based on conjecture. But imagine if one, or both, of the dead police officers were Caucasian. How would the mainstream media portray the horror that happened? The police officers would be vilified and McNeil’s mother would be saintly in her loss. We wouldn’t need to ask if there were going to be riots. We would only need to ask how many and where. The conspiracy theorists would sling all sorts of false accusations simply to gin up more angst and violence to fuel the rioting.
It just doesn’t make sense. Unless your goal is to create so much chaos, that people cry out for help. And here comes the National Police Force, to save the day and take your freedom away.
If we don’t recognize what’s happening and take action, it will be too late.
NYPD officer Jason Rivera and his partner Wilbert Mora were fired upon by Lashawn McNeil while responding to a domestic disturbance. The mother (who called the police) made no mention of the weapon her son possessed. Was this a setup? Who knows but … Officer Rivera was killed and officer Mora is clinging to life.
Once again, a piece of human excrement, Lashawn McNeil, was not incarcerated like he should’ve been and now officer Rivera will never live the life he dreamed—our condolences and prayers to his family and friends—our prayers for a speedy and complete recovery to officer Mora.
There is only one answer that I can think of to explain the lunacy of the left. I’ve talked about this before, and it seems as though I’m the only one. But here it is again.
In the United States of America, policing of the civilian population falls under the jurisdiction of local police departments. It is a highly decentralized system and as such, can’t be controlled by Washington and its (unelected) bureaucrats. This is a huge problem for liberals, progressives, and the communist party in America.
But what if you can disrupt the current system to a point where the people cry out for Federal help? Well, the FBI steps in. Now, the Fed controls national and local law enforcement; this bears repeating. Listen to me carefully; The Fed Will Control All Law Enforcement. And of course, who controls the Fed? Unelected government bureaucrats, The Swamp, that’s who.
Consider this as your possible future.
You buy your son a dog for his birthday. It’s a beautiful Golden Labrador but there’s a problem, it needs space to run and play. You anticipated this and contracted a company to build a fence around your yard. The contractor pulled all the permits and the fence is legal. You keep your son and his dog on our property as specified by government mandate.
Your neighbor is the City Director of the FBI and he was in his backyard grilling burgers when your son took his new dog out to play. At first, because of the excitement of the moment, the dog barked at your neighbor. The barking was short-lived. The dog quickly lost interest in your neighbor and spent the rest of the afternoon playing with your son. That was on Sunday.
Monday, you go into work as usual and pick up where you left off last Friday. Suddenly, your boss calls you into her office. She lays down the law in no uncertain terms. There’s a complaint about your dog and if you don’t get rid of it immediately, you’ll need to find another job. Under no circumstances will she allow her department to go through another FBI compliance audit.
You have no choice and Monday night, you break your son’s heart. Something he will remember for the rest of his life.
Think this is just another example of Davyd writing fiction? Ask someone who escaped Cuba in the 60’s.
Freedom is worth fighting for, but only to those willing to fight. The time is now.
Look. I know it’s only been a year, but six months into the Biden rein of incompetency, most of us were asking, could it get any worse.
And then the BLM/ANTIFA riots happened.
And then Afghanistan happened.
And then the crime wave happened. And then runaway inflation happened. And then the Putin/Xi accord happened. And then Americans, even those who actually (not figuratively) voted for Joe Biden stopped asking if it could get any worse. They already knew the answer. Instead, they started asking what’s next.
Yet, there are still Biden supporters who can’t see the naked emperor. I work with one. He’s a good guy. Also, he knows that I write this blog, but because he’s a staunch progressive and liberal to his core, he refuses to read anything I write. I can safely publish this post knowing that he (let’s call him Bernie) and I will still be friends.
The other day at work, we were talking about Joe. Why? Because there’s a TV in the employee lounge and Bernie never misses an opportunity to tune in CNN. They were talking about some nonsense or another, and I happened to blurt out, “Name one thing Joe Biden has done right.”
Bernie laughed that sarcastically demeaning way all liberals do when someone from the right speaks. Then he says, “Biden stopped the war!”
Bernie is older than me, and I consider him a friend even though he’d be a communist if he were truly honest with himself. Still, he’s older, and out of respect, I do my best to give him as much leeway as possible.
I simply said, “No, he didn’t.”
Bernie did his liberal laugh again. “Yes, he did—he ended a twenty-year war.”
“NO. Joe didn’t end the war.”
“Oh yes, he did.”
“No, he didn’t.” At this point, it was time for me to leave because there was only one thing left for me to say. “I’m running late. Gotta go guys. Drive safely out there.” I started to walk away.
There were the normal return salutations, You Too, Be Safe, Have a Good One, and then there was Bernie and his ideology. “Remember! No more war … No War!”
What I wanted to say, but didn’t, out of respect for Bernie, was this. “Joe Biden didn’t end a war; he surrendered it. There’s a big difference. It’s why there are still American hostages in Afghanistan. It’s why the Taliban had a big victory parade with 85 billion dollars worth of our military equipment. It’s why Putin and Xi are becoming so aggressive on the world stage. Biden didn’t end a war; he laid the groundwork for a new one.”
In hindsight, maybe I should have said something. But it wouldn’t have registered with good ole Bernie, so I didn’t risk an argument.
Suffice it to say, Joe has driven America off the road and fallen asleep at the wheel with his foot on the accelerator. He’ll never learn to do what’s right for anyone but himself. And Bernie? Good ole Bernie will never learn to see the naked emperor cloaked in communist ideology.
In yesterday’s post, I hinted at a second entertaining story courtesy of my passengers, and here it is.
But first, let me set the scene. It was a clear and crisp day. The kind of day people pay good money to experience during Florida’s winter.
FYI—For all you northeast liberals: I’m a conservative, and just like everything else I say, I just lied about the weather. The truth is the weather sucks. Also, mask and vax mandates, Joe’s build back better (or for worse) plan, and defunding the police, are huge successes. So stay right where you are, and keep on voting for politicians like AOC and Joe Biden.
Now, back to setting the scene:
My bus is a full fare bus which means $1.50 buys you a seat. There are qualified discounts, but first, you must qualify. We also have free-fare bus routes for people who live in certain areas. For this story, we’ll say that people from Tim-Buck-Too (fictitious) qualify to ride these free routes, but again, the route I drive is not free, so that doesn’t apply.
My route is a big loop, approximately one hour long. On this particular loop, I arrived at one of my stops with an empty bus and slightly ahead of schedule. One passenger was waiting to board, so I knelt the bus and opened the doors.
Big Red, as we will affectionately call him for obvious reasons (he’s big and has red hair), boards my bus and feeds a dollar into the farebox. Then, he continues to his seat as though he paid the full fare. To do it right takes practice because you need to do it fast, and in one swift motion. It’s the first rule of bad ridership. If you don’t do it right, you have to stop, allowing the driver an opportunity to catch you shorting the fare. Big Red was an expert, and as such, made his way to the rear of the bus. He figured that he got away with it again (Dumb driver), mistake number one.
I waited until he got comfortable in the back seat of my 40-foot bus. Why? Because I’m not as dumb as I look and this isn’t my first rodeo. “Excuse me, sir. The fare is $1.50.” Big Red pretended not to hear me—standard operating procedure for experienced riders. But I wasn’t deterred and repeated, “Sir, the fare, it’s a $1.50.”
“Oh. I didn’t know. I never rode the bus before, and everyone said it was a dollar.”
Mistake number two, I know he’s an experienced rider but I played along. “No sir. This is a full-fare bus and it’s a $1.50.”
Big Red didn’t like being challenged like that, so he forgot the second rule of bad ridership; when the driver expects you to come to the front of the bus for any reason, always walk as slow as possible. Remember, the driver has a schedule to keep. But Big Red let his temper get the best of him and charged to the front. “Since when is it a $1.50? I always pay a dollar.”
Mistake number three. He just said that he was a new rider. I ignored this mistake as well and pointed to the front of the farebox. “What does it say?” When Big Red finished reading, he just stood there like a statue. So, I repeated, “What does it say?”
He hadn’t figured out a response yet, so he told the truth. “It says a $1.50 but ….. Oh. Wait. What if I’m from Tim-Buck-Too?” If he was a new rider, how would he know about Tim-Buck-Too? Mistake number four.
I looked him straight in the eye and said, “I don’t care if you’re from Pluto. This is a full-fare bus.”
He shot back with the smartest-ass answer he could muster, “What if I’m from Uranus (pronounce your anus)?”
I’m an experienced driver, and insults like this don’t really faze me one way or the other. So I said with a smile, “Then you’ll have to get off my bus.”
He wasn’t expecting that response, especially attached to a big smile. It caught him off guard because he was trying to anger me and it didn’t work. He paid the 50 cents and went back to his seat wondering what the hell just happened.
Here’s another FYI. Drivers are still required to wear Biden-Masks even though passengers are not. How does that make any sense? I don’t know. Anyway, I repositioned it so it could finally serve a function, help hide my laughter.
By the time we got to the end of the route, Big Red wanted to get off the bus to smoke a cigarette before continuing. The route ends and begins at a transfer stop where we wait five minutes while passengers change buses. On his way off the bus, he stops and asks, “Is it okay if I go smoke a cigarette?”
I’m still trying to hold back laughter, “Sure.”
He didn’t realize it, but the joke was on him and every time he opened his mouth, I had to struggle not to laugh. He saw that I wasn’t angry, and for the life of him, he didn’t know why. The more he thought about it the more he started to worry. Then, he realized that he was physically off the bus and earlier I mentioned something about him having to get off my bus. I could see it on his face. He was really confused and getting more concerned by the minute.
It was time for me to stretch my legs. As I got off the bus, I walked past him and started to make my way down the loading deck towards the security guard. Big Red saw this and panicked. Then, he did the only thing he could. “Driver! I’m sorry about that Uranus remark.”
I turned back, “Why? I thought you meant it as a joke.”
Big Red was at a loss. “Uh, I did.”
“Well, that’s how I took it. If you didn’t mean it as a joke, you’re walking.”
“No. No. It was totally a joke.”
I wasn’t trying to get the security guard’s attention, I just happened to walk in his direction. He looked at me and asked, “What’s that about?”
“I’ll tell you later.” And then, I walked to the other side of my bus and cracked up laughing until it was time to go.
In case you missed the joke, when my passenger posed the question, “What if I came from Uranus (pronounced your anus)?” He quite literally called himself a piece of shit.
A Big Red Piece of Shit.
Sometimes, the hardest part of my job is keeping a straight face.
It was a somewhat slow news week, so my political muse was nowhere to be found. Let’s face it, Joe Biden falling asleep during meetings or reading the teleprompter instructions as part of his speech, just isn’t newsworthy anymore. How sad is that?
Fortunately for us, my passengers came to the rescue.
Let’s start with the most recent episode of passenger outrageousness.
I picked up two old ladies on an errand to someplace or another, the actual destination is irrelevant. Of the two, one seemed to be the caregiver (supervisor) of the other. We will call the caregiver Matilda and the other Gertrude. I don’t know their real names and (for legal purposes) these names are fictitious.
Mattie and Gert finally get themselves seated after only five or six minutes. When it comes to the elderly or children, I try not to move the bus until they sit. FYI, I was on schedule before I picked them up.
Of course, it didn’t take long before Mattie shouts, “Are we going to make it to the mall on time?” Keep in mind, she was seated in the middle of a loud, crowded bus, and I heard the question clear as a bell. But I chose to ignore it because passengers aren’t supposed to talk to the driver, especially when he’s driving.
For Mattie, rules are no obstacle whatsoever. She simply turned up the volume a few hundred decibels and repeated, “Driver, are we going to make it to the mall on time?”
“No ma’am. We’re now five or six minutes late.”
Gert chimes in, “What did he say?”
“He said we’re five or six minutes late.”
I expected Gert to go ballistic, but she didn’t. She just said, “Oh.”
About a minute later Gert says something to Mattie that was completely garbled. Mattie ignored it the way I initially ignored her. And just like Mattie, Gert was not deterred. With the volume turned up a few notches, Gert says, “My ass is slimy.” The whole bus heard it except for Mattie, who happened to be sitting right next to her.
“What did you say?”
“My ass is slimy.”
“My ass is slimy.”
“Your ass is shinny?”
“No! My ass is slimy.”
“Your ass is grimy?”
“MY – ASS – IS – SLIMY!”
And that’s how they left it for a minute or two. Then, Mattie shouts out, “How did your ass get slimy?”
“I don’t know. It just is.”
That wasn’t good enough for Mattie. “How do you not know how your ass got slimy? I’d know how my ass got slimy — if my ass was slimy.” Mattie shook her head in disbelief. “How do you not know? You gotta know.”
“I already told you, I don’t.”
“You gotta know.”
Gert tried to defend herself, “How the hell am I supposed to know? I can’t see it.”
“You don’t have to see it to know. You can feel it. How did your ass get slimy?”
“I – DON’T – KNOW.”
Mattie wasn’t satisfied and attempted to delve deeper.
“Did you pee yourself?”
“Did you shit yourself?”
“Well, it’s got to be one or the other. Which one is it? How’d you get a slimy ass?”
Gert defended, “You think you know everything. Well, you don’t. You’re wrong. It doesn’t have to be one of those. Maybe I just got a slimy ass.”
“You can’t just have a slimy ass.”
Gert was enjoying Mattie’s frustration, and when I looked at her in the passenger mirror, she was looking back with a shit-eating-smirk. And then, I had a BDBE, Oh God.
Mattie couldn’t hold back anymore, she burst out, “You’re lying. Either you pissed yourself or you shit yourself, and you’re too stupid to know which is which.”
Gert shouted, “No. I’m not stupid. You’re stupid. I’m not lying either, and I can prove it. I didn’t shit or piss myself. I did both.”