DAMN I MISS THE OBAMAS

the Ol'Buzzard

DAYLIGHT HAS DECREASED BY THREE MINUTES

In western Maine winter is always coming.

the Ol'Buzzard

What the hell is going on with the new blogger?

This is what I was afraid of:  Every time I select a blog to read, instead of bringing up the blog I get a message: The previous page is sending you to ... and a web address appears.   I have to click the web address to access the blog.   

Is there a fix for this that I don't know about?   

the Ol;Buzzard

TRYING OUT THE NEW BLOGGER

I hate being forced to new.  I don't like having to learn new.  If I want to learn something new I will pursue it myself and do it in my own time and at my own speed.

I have always said that every thing I know, I learned from books. That has always been my mantra until the last decade.   Now when I want to learn something new I go to YouTube.   

I checked out the tutorial on the new Blogger and so here it is.

Oh well.

What the fuck

the Ol'Buzzard

I HAD A DREAM LAST NIGHT

It was a hot night without air conditioning.   When I finally fell into a restless slumber I dreamt one of those bizarre night-frights that often accompany a disturbed sleep.

THE PLACE: The White House Executive Residence.

Two secret service agents are stationed in the hallway just down from Trump’s bedroom.  Trump's personal agent, code name Papa Bear, is talking to Melania’s personal agent who is new on the job, code name Mama Bear.

Mama Bear: Boy, this is a rough night for me.  Melania has been drinking all afternoon and is in a shit mood.

Papa Bear:  I don’t wonder.  This is the one night each month Melania is required to have sex with PODIS. 

Mama Bear: What do you mean required?

Papa Bear: I think it is in her prenup.   She puts out, or else it leaves herself open to the loss of any cash obligation from her husband.

 

Mama Bear:  Hell, I’d want to be drunk too if I had to see POTUS naked, much less have sex with him.

Papa Bear:  Yeah, I have seen him naked and it something I won’t be able to get out of my head for a long time, if ever.  Anyway, I just took POTUS in a supersize bucket of Colonel Sanders extra crispy fried chicken, so maybe he will be distracted and we can skip sex night. 

Mama Bear:   Shouldn’t we be closer to their room. 

 

Papa Bear:   Do you really want to hear what goes on in there tonight?

Mama Bear and Papa Bear are joined by Holy Bear, Vice President Mike Pence’s personal Secret service agent. 

Holly Bear:  What’s up guys.

Papa Bear:  We’re just standing watch as usual.  What are you doing here?

Holy Bear:  Pence is meeting with Senator Lindsey Graham in the adjoining room to PODUS bedroom.   They are discussing something they want to bring before POTUS later tonight.    Pence just sent down to the kitchen for snacks for the meeting.  POTUS is always more amenable when he has food in front of him. 

Mama Bear:  What’s that noise?

Lindsey rushes out of the sitting room.

Lindsey:  Oh my god they are killing each other!   I’m getting the vapors!

Lindsey swoons.

Holy Bear runs to Graham and tries to revive him. 

Holy Bear:  Mr. Graham, what’s going on.  What’s wrong?

Graham groggily:  It’s awful, the noise coming out of the Presidents bedroom!  It is terrible!   Melania is screaming and Trump is making the most awful sounds.!  Something bad is going on.   You boys need to get in there.

Papa Bear:   I’m not going in there.

Mama Bear:  Me neither.

Graham:  Somebody needs to go in.  It sounds like the President is having a fit.

Papa Bear:   Fuck.   Why doesn’t Pence go in?

Holy Bear:   He can’t.   He promised God he would never go into a room where a woman was drinking without his wife.   But he is praying.

Graham swoons again.

Papa Bear:  Holy Bear, get the nurse up here.  We are going to have to go in.

Mama Bear:   What do you mean we?

Papa Bear:  You’re going with me – your charge may be in trouble too.

The Secret service agents respond.  In the adjoining sitting room Mike Pence is on his knees praying.  There is fitful guttural noise coming from the President’s bedroom and Melania is swearing in a mixture of Slovenian and English.

  

The agents knock on the door to Trump’s bedroom and after a few seconds crack the door open and look in.

Trump is lying on the bed amongst an array of fried chicken and mashed potatoes.  His face is purple, drool is running down his chin and chest, and he seems to be both choking and in a rage.    There is a huge red spot on the sheet covering the President.  For a moment the agents are transfixed, but then they respond with their training.

 

Mama Bear approaches Melania and tries to calm her.  She is screaming: Fuck you – you no fucking good President– you little dick – now you no dick.

  

Mama Bears efforts are in vane and Melania raves on. 

 Papa bear does a quick triage.  The President is having trouble breathing, though in a rage.  It appears his dick has been cut off and he is bleeding profusely.   

In triage you always treat breathing difficulties before bleeding.  Papa bear grab Trump’s dick stub and apply pressure while at the same time attempting to open the President’s mouth to look for an obstruction.

  

Just at that moment the nurse arrives.   After a quick assessment she tells Papa Bear to continue stemming the bleeding from Trump’s dick stub while she tries to calm the President and look in his mouth. 

 

Trump slumps on his pillow in semi-consciousness and the nurse is able to view the obstruction.  With a pair of forceps, she is finally able to dislodge a full drumstick, extra crispy, from the President’s esophagus.  He begins to breath heavily, and quickly the color comes back to his face.  Within a few minutes he is able to talk.

Trump raving:  That bitch bit off my dick when she was supposed to be giving me head.   I want you to call my lawyer right away.   I’ll sue her.  Throw the bitch in jail.  I want her executed!  Where is Barr?

The paramedics arrive and load Trump onto a gurney for transportation.  He refuses to let them transport him until they gathered the uneaten chicken and given it to him in the KFC bucket. 

Late that evening Papa Bear and Mama bear are comparing notes.

Papa Bear:  POTUS is stabilized.   Barr is with him and Trump is demanding a firing squad for Melania.   By the way, do you know what happened to severed penis part?

 

Mama Bear:  It seems Melania swallowed the dick and refuses to vomit it up.  The VP is wondering whether Melania can be forced to have her stomach pumped; but the ACLU has come to her defense.   Fox News is demanding Pence gets Barr to apply for a search warrant through the federal judge of the DC court in order to force Melania to surrender the organ; but it looks like a court battle, perhaps all the way to the Supreme Court could ensue.  By that time the dick will be digested.

Mama Bear continues: I was with Melania when she was approached to submit to the procedure, she just shook her head and grinned like a Cheshire Cat.   According to my assignment I have to protect her, with force if necessary.  Fuck, I am in the frying pan.

The next day at the White House briefing, Kellyann Conway announces that due to an unavoidable accident the President had one of the digits on his huge hand severed; but due to his remarkable genomes he will surely be able to grow another in record time.   She added:  The First Lady is in severe distress due to her husband’s discomfort and has moved back to Trump Tower. 

 

Then I woke up.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

the Ol’Buzzard

HURRICANE SEASON; STILL TIME TO BUILD AN ARK

THE STORY OF THE FLOOD

Noah’s son Ham approaches his mother Zipporah.

Mon says, “Where is your father?”

Ham, “He’s out in the backyard building on his boat.”

Mom, “Wish he’ spend as much time working for money as he spends on that boat.” 

Ham, “He says God told him to build the boat.” 

Mom, “Yes, and God tells him to go to the Happy Hole and spend his money every Friday before Sabbath.”

Ham, “Dad says God told him there is going to be a flood and we will need a boat.”

Mom, “you’re as dumb as your dad.  We’re in the middle of a desert.  We don’t need a boat.   We have a flash flood every spring and we all go up on the hill till the water goes down.”

Ham, “But dad says…”

Mom, “Oy vey .  My father arranged my marriage to dumbest and old carpenter in the town, all for a new wheelbarrow.   Now I have an ancient, senile husband and four retarded sons that are a chip of the block of stupid wood.”

Ham, “How old is dad?  He said six hundred when I asked him.”

Mom, “Holy Mother of Moses.  I give up.”

Later that year the spring rains come, and the dry river bed starts to swell.   The village is leaving for higher ground. 

Noah, “Come on Mother, get in the boat.   God is going to save us.”

Mom, “your drunk.   And you’ve got the boy’s drunk too.”

Noah, “God told us to drink as much wine as we can to lighten the load, so the boat will float.   Now you and the girls and kids need to get in the boat – God said to.”

“Mom, “The girls and babies and I are going up on the hill like we always do till the flood goes down.”  

Noah, slurring his words; “God told me to take two of every animal in the world, and the boys are loading them now – but there is still some room for you and the family.”  

Mom, “Two of every animal in the world?”

Noah’s son Japhet comes in the kitchen, “Pa, the cats won’t stay in the boat.   We’ve got the goats and the dogs in, but there ain’t enough room for the ass so I tied him to the back – he can swim so he should be all right.”   Japhet scratches his ass and says, “I had Shem put in two chickens and two ducks like you said, but we only got one cow – what you want to do?”

Mom, “You’re not drowning the cow – she’s coming with me.”

Japhet, “Pa.  ain’t there more animals in the world than ducks, chickens, goats, dogs, cats and cows?”

Noah, “Now son, did you ever see any other animals?”

Son, “Naw Pa, but people say...”

Noah, “You see, that’s just fake news.  The true facts, God calls them alternative facts, is what you see and what I tell you.   Now did you load the food?”

Japhet, “We got that twenty-five gallons of wine you made and six loaves of bread like you said, and we got the fishing gear.   We can eat a chicken if we don’t catch fish.”

Noah, “You dumb fool, we can’t eat a chicken – God said there has to be two.”

Japhet, “but why two Pa?”

Noah, “You stupid shit, so we can breed more after the flood.”

Japhet, “But Pa, the chickens are both hens.  We don’t got no rooster.”

Noah, “Get in the damn boat.

Mom shakes her head and leaves with the boy’s wives and children. 

The rain continues for five days and the water rises to three feet. 

Up on the hill the residents are enjoying the yearly community flood gathering.   Noah’s wife occasionally hears her drunk husband and sons singing sailor shanties down in the valley.  

When the flood recedes, the villagers return to find Noah and his sons passed out on the roof of their house, the boat full of water and the animals gone.   There are some chicken and duck bones scattered about the roof. 

Years later Noah tells the story of the Ark and the flood to an Arab scribe who writes it down word for word. 

Eons later God has the story read to him: “Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha…”   Then he tweets: What dumb asses, so funny, so stupid.   Sad

then

We will build a wall.  Jews will pay for it.

the Ol'Buzzard

 

IF YOU DON'T HAVE HBO YOU NEED TO LOOK AT THIS

John Oliver discusses systemic racism in police culture.

If you are offended by the word FUCK and adult language; then go look at cat memes. 











the Ol'Buzzard

STARTING THE DAY OFF RIGHT

Sometimes the only positive thing that  happens to you all day, is the good crap you had that morning.

And if you didn’t, then you’ll have to write off the whole day as shit.

But it doesn't have to be that way.

When ever I find a product or an activity that I like, I usually try to share it on this blog.

A few months ago, I had a hernia operation.    I was really concerned about the possibility of damaging the operation site, because I usually strain when using the bathroom.

   

Before the operation, I talked to my brother-in-law, who has more medical complaints than a Sigonella hooker.  He highly recommended Metamucil, saying it keep him wonderfully regular.

  

I can’t say enough about this product.   I take one teaspoon in a cold glass of water every morning.   For those of you old enough to remember, it tastes just like orange Tang.

It works, no pain, no strain.   And regardless what happens the rest of the day – I’m good to go.

Thanks Johnny

I love you man.

the Ol'Buzzard

 

JUNE 6, 2019: BROTHER JOHN IS GONE

Dr. John died one year ago today.   Another icon of my era is gone . 


DR. JOHN
11-12-1940 to 6-6-2019

Brother John is gone 








Gone to the land of the Mardi gras  Indians







He's home
the Ol'Buzzard

HERSTORY

With all the division in this country, I wonder how the history of the Trump presidency will be recorded?   It all depends on a possible second term. 

 

History, at best, is a fictional story of an incident in time, recorded through the bias of the writer.   Often the writer is chronicling an event that he did not actually experience.

For the most part, history is written by the winners of wars; by the ruling political party; by the rich and powerful that control the media and can influence the minds of the people.   

 Recorded history has been filtered through the writer’s biases; his or her gender, race, religion, politics, education, intelligence and cultural mores.

Nine-eleven was a viscous attack on a civilian population by religious fanatics, that took three thousand innocent lives.      That is how the destruction of the twin towers will be chronicled in our history.

America’s nuclear attacks on the Island of Japan took three-quarters of a million civilian lives: women, children, old people; and leveled entire cities.    We won, so we chronicle that as ending a tyrannical war. 

It wasn’t until lately that I considered the word: history:   His story. 

A glaring bias in the recording of history is that for thousands of years the chroniclers have been men.  

 

I wonder how events would have been recorded if it were herstory: Her story?   

the Ol'Buzzard

MY KNEE-JERK LIBERAL REACTION

I just listened again to Liberal Redneck’s take on the Minnesota riots published in my last blog post.   My first impression was: Yeah Trae, you nailed it.  But since then I have had time to think about it.

 

When the outrage against police systemic violence against Black men, and the murder of George Floyd, moved from a protest to a riot, we should step back from our knee-jerk reaction to be the politically correct liberal snowflakes ready to support Black Lives Matter in every  instance, and draw a line at arson and looting.

 

Being righteously mad and being outraged is not an excuse to riot.  And just because the riot is done in the name of the victim of a vicious murder, and years of systemic racism injustice, should not give it cover. 

 

Where do you draw a line: I am outraged because of racial injustice so I should be able show my anger by looting a store; I am outraged so I should be able to burn down this building; I am outraged so I should be able to use a car in an attempt to kill a police officer; I am outraged so I should be able to  participate in a gang rape; I am outraged so I should be able to open fire at a music concert; I am outraged so I should be able to set off a bomb during the Boston marathon; I am outraged so I should be able to hi-jack an aircraft and fly it into a building?

 

Looting is a crime.   The store owner had no hand in the murder of Floyd.   Arson is a crime and the building owner had no hand in the crime.   A man leaving a trashed store with a computer under his arm, or a new skate board on his shoulder, is not protesting injustice, he is stealing – and setting fire to a building is arson in any culture. 

 

We have the right to protest.   We have the right to assemble and the right to speak out, and damn well have the right to fill the streets with protest for as long as it takes to raise awareness and demand social justice.   But when the protest accelerates to rioting, looting and arson we have transgressed that right.    Burning down a city is not protesting, it is terrorism.

People that hit the streets after dark are wilding.  They are guilty of using a brutal murder of an innocent man as cover to party, and do the things they would not do in the light of day.

My attitude toward this protest has changed.  The death of Mr. Floyd was appalling, and all four police officers should spend years in jail, but I no longer have any respect for the protest on the streets.   This protest needs to disband, and the lawless faction should be apprehended and prosecuted.   This protest and this cause have lost its high ground.

 

Dr. King called for peaceful protest and brought segregation to its knees.  There is nothing that has happened over the past four nights that is worthy of Dr. King's legacy.

It is sad

The Ol’Buzzard

HE SAYS IT BETTER THAN I

the Ol'Buzzard

OBAMA SINGS OUT

Damn we miss him
the Ol'Buzzard

THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM

We have a problem with policing.   Cops are trained in military tactics, consequently they have a SWAT attitude.   They are not trained to deescalate problems and assist communities, but to assault problems and police communities.  Many of the people in police forces should not be cops, they have self-esteem problems, and many are racist.   Cops close ranks when one member is in trouble.   There is a systemic attitude that you are supposed to look the other way, that keeps cops from policing each other. 

The murder of George Floyd has sparked outrage and protest.   Without this outrage and protest there would be no accountability.   Protest marches should have been unimpeded by police and police presence should be without riot gear.

  

It is unfortunate that legitimate outrage at the murder of unarmed and helpless George Floyd has been sullied by arson, vandalism and theft.

That said, when cities start to burn and stores are looted a demonstration has moved from a show of solidarity to anarchy.   The people committing these crimes are wildings, using the cover of a justified demonstration against racial violence by police, to steal, commit arson and incite violence, because they can. 

Real concerned demonstrators protesting the murder of George Floyd should insist that demonstrations end at night fall.

   

Regardless how mad you are, there is no justification for arson and looting, and, for the people demonstrating after dark it is party time and has nothing to do with George Floyd,   Demonstrators that stand around and watch, are aiding and abetting.

HEMISPHERE PREJUDICES

Children get the wrong idea about the earth from globes.   We tend to think that the North Pole is up and the South Pole is down.   Actually, there is no up and down in space; humans in the northern hemisphere have just made the maps that way for centuries. 

To be accurate, the northern hemisphere countries should be readable on a globe when the north pole is viewed at the top, and the countries in the southern hemisphere should be readable when the glove is rotated and the south pole is viewed at the top.

Or an alternative offering: present it both ways.

  

The way it is now subliminally suggest that the countries in the northern hemisphere are more important than the southern countries,

That is not a fucking snow flake observation.

We need to present science, history and geography factually, and in a way to make children think.

Math can take care of itself.

the Ol’Buzzard