Tag Archives: humor

Amber waves of marijuana and shale oil deposits – Protecting the Mexicans from people like us

Re-blogged from September 18, 2013

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by.

Those damned Mexicans.  They refuse to protect themselves.  This time 150 years ago they had a damned Austrian monarch running the country and French soldiers keeping him in power.  A little before that the US Army had to go down there and whip the bejesus out of them because they wouldn’t give us New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, Nevada and California.

Heck, a century ago they refused to protect themselves again and we had to send General Blackjack Pershing to beat some sense into their heads.  Bastards had the cheek to kill 19 US Navy men when a US ship drove into Vera Cruz and started shelling the town.

Now they’ve got all that marijuana growing down there nobody can make any money from until it gets across the border.  Nobody making a penny off it except Mexicans until it gets up here where someone can use it.  Bad enough, you say?  Well, I agree.  But it isn’t all.

The shale oil deposits Old Sol gave us because we’re his Chosen People don’t necessarily stop at the Rio Grande.  There’s a better-than-even chance some of it’s down there where nobody can make any money off it except Mexicans.

We’ve been patient and we’ve tried hard, but those shiftless, indolent people down there keep having stuff we need to be making money from and they refuse to protect themselves from us.   There doesn’t seem to be any way we’re going to be able to avoid having to invade them to protect them from us.

People like that don’t have any respect for human life the way we do and it gets downright boring and tiresome forever having to invade them.  Time to put a stop to it.

Time to make them Chosen People with us, annex them.  Time to make Mexico a US territory so we can protect them.

Old Jules

Advertisements

All these free kids flooding into the country and they want to send them BACK?

Re-blogged from July 12, 2014

Sheeze readers, can you believe this?  Hundreds, maybe thousands of kids at loose-ends coming across our border.  Nobody for us to answer to, no matter what we do to them.  And whatever it is beats starving to death in some pesthole where they don’t even speak English.

Heck, we could send them to butler and house-keeper schools so’s when they grow up they’d have rent-free jobs they can’t quit in the homes of rich people.  Make slaves of them.  Hell nobody would notice or care.  Auction them off to Oriental pedophiles to pay the National Debt.

These kids are the future and we’re squandering it, haggling over how long it should take to send them back.  Sending them back is crazy.  Nobody has ever been more helpless than them.  We can do anything to them that makes us feel good.  Put them to work doing phone sales, teach them martial arts and how to shoot and give them to important people for a lifetime of free bodyguarding.

Hang signs over their shoulders advertising pizza joints or wearing statue of liberty suits waving people into tax joints.  Free.  Everyone could have one to wash the laundry, cook and do the dishes.  Curl up under the kitchen table when the work was all done.

Mostly these days a lot of people can afford to hire someone for menial tasks, but they still have to get up to get beers or change the batteries on the TV remotes.  Still have to carry out the trash.  Life still sucks for them.

And as always, God heard their pleas.  Sent all those starving, displaced kids up from Godawful places south of Mexico.

God has always taken a favorable view to slavery.  Time was He demanded His Chosen People of the time make slaves of all the neighbors they couldn’t kill.  And now we are his Chosen People.  He’s offering a free gift of thousands of slaves for us to do anything with we want to.  And they can’t do anything back.

Hell, they’d probably thank us.

Send them back?  What the hell is wrong with those people in Washington?  Right now they’re having to PAY illegal aliens to mow the grass.  If they relax they can have one for a slave and use him/her for a sex toy when all the work’s done.

And they’re helpless to keep it from happening.  Perfecto!  If we’re going to be God’s Chosen People we’re going to have to start acting the way God’s Chosen People acted when they were still getting their instructions.  And the way the ones who think they are, but aren’t anymore, are still behaving, though they’ve toned it down some.

But they don’t have any starving, helpless kids flooding across the border begging to be exploited seven ways from Sunday upside down and backward.  God’s pretty much cut them off for the last couple of thousand years.

Old Jules

In case you missed how we became God’s Chosen People and posts in that vein:

 

 

 

The four civilized countries in the world

Re-blogged from September 9, 2013

Hi readers. Thanks for coming by for a read.

When I confided to you a while back that Old Sol told me the people of the US are his 21st Century Chosen People I knew some of you would be skeptical. So I held back part of what he said to give you an opportunity to digest it a piece at a time.

If you look at the maps you’ll immediately see Australia is just the 48 contiguous states of the US turned upsidedown and placed in the southern hemisphere. This is no coincidence. It’s proof of Old Sol’s intentions.

Old Sol wants the four civilized countries in the world, the US, Australia, New Zealand and Canada to all be his own Chosen People. To accomplish this He wants those four countries to form a confederation which, once accomplished, will make them all Old Sol’s Chosen People!

Isn’t that exciting?

Naturally Old Sol wants the Promised Land to have secure borders easily defended. So He points out, as He used to do in ancient times with his former Chosen People, that a few pieces of real estate currently occupied by Non-Chosen People will have to be absorbed. Namely everything from Texas to the Panama Canal. Which shouldn’t be a problem.

In fact, Old Sol even suggests offering to move Israel to the new Promised Land and establishing them from the north shore of the Panama Canal north to Guatemala! Give them Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador and northern Panama. Maybe even Guatemala if they behave themselves. That way they’ll be able to once again be Chosen People, same as the Jews in the four civilized countries already are.

Isn’t that exciting?

But what’s equally exciting is that Old Sol wants the southern hemisphere Promised Land to be occupied by left-handed Chosen People. Right handed Chosen People will be moved to the northern hemisphere Promised Lands.

There’s a lot more, but I’m going to allow you time to digest this before I pass it on to you.

Old Jules

A better way – Getting new royalty when the President croaks

This still seems about as salubrious a means of replacing a prez as the one we’ve been using. Time we bellied up to the bar and admitted we love being governed by dynasties of aristocrats. And that aristocrats in this country are anyone who’s a celebrity and rich. Michael Douglas for prez, for instance, because he’s got such a wide range of experience in the movies qualifies him. Provided he has a sexy wife to succeed him when some returned US Navy SEAL offs him with a sniper rifle. Recall, Lee Harvey Oswald and Charlie Whitman were both ex-Marines.

So Far From Heaven

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.  Not all of this is humor.

Must have been November, 1962, election day in Massachusetts though we didn’t know it.  Three young GIs in uniform, Tony Bozza, Julio Ditata and I were off work.  We lived in a brownstone house converted to apartments on Beacon Street, so we wandered over to an ice-cream joint on Boylston Street across from Boston Plaza.

As we finished off our ice cream we saw police cordoning off Boylston Street, people drifting in behind them.  Something was happening so we rushed out for a front-line position.  Asked one of the cops what was going on.

King/President Kennedy was in town.  Came to vote for his brother for the Senate.  Maybe State Senate.  I can’t recall for certain.  JFK was going to stay at the Plaza Hotel across the street.  “Salute when he drives by

View original post 500 more words

The love affair with automobiles

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.

Experts agree that almost everyone born in the US between 1950 and 1960 was conceived in the back seat of a Ford, General Motors, or Chrysler automobile.  The overwhelming majority of the comparative few exceptions were mainly Studebakers because of the convenience of the suicide-style back doors opening forward to allow more horizontal legroom.   The highest percentages go to the 1949 Ford Club Coupe, the 1954 Chevrolet Sedan, and the 1956 Ford Crown Victoria.

But I’ve digressed.  My point is, almost nobody was conceived in a pickup or passenger car with a floor shift or bucket seats.  And nobody, not one pregnancy resulted from sexual congress in a hotrod.  Which is the reason parents allowed youngsters of the day to build and drive them.  A young man with a hotrod had little time or need to devote himself to the pursuit of female company.

Naturally the music industry approved this means of birth control and tried to the best of its ability to stimulate interest in and sing the virtues of coffins on wheels, speed, running from the law and other non-sexual avenues of endeavor for young men.

Red Foley’s, ‘Hotrod Race‘ was the first of these:

After a tasteful passage of time this was answered by Charlie Ryan’s, ‘Hotrod Lincoln‘, claiming to be the person driving the Model A who passed Foley and the car he’d been racing against in ‘Hotrod Race’.

George Hamilton IV, in “If You Don’t Know” attempted to combine an interest in girls and hot cars by driving a ’54 souped up Ford Deluxe with high compression heads and overdrive, which succeeded for speed but had mixed results with females.

The Beach Boys were a bit late off the starting line with “Little Deuce Coupe” in 1964 because the sexual revolution had come along allowing babies to be conceived elsewhere than the back seats of automobiles.  However, I mention it here to demonstrate the lingering nature of fads, once begun.  Long after hotrods were no longer needed to protect the virtue of young men in the US, the sound of a burned out muffler still caused a faster heartbeat.

Robert Mitchum followed the formula in Ballad of Thunder Road, combining fast cars and running from the cops with filling up the spare space in the automobile with mountain whiskey instead of females.  The song led to many a high-speed chase around the cities of America providing thrills to both police, and teenagers.  And frequently ambulance and hearse drivers.

When the Nash Rambler hit the market nobody mistook it for a cool aphrodisiac setting for launching future generations.  The car was considered ugly, though it appealed so a certain type.  But since it wasn’t for the one thing, it must be for the other.  At least in the minds of the music industry:

Although I doubt many children begin their long journey toward birth in modern automobiles now, there are a lot of similarities to the hotrod part of the 1950s love affair.  People love being seen in Hum Vees and dooley trucks.  Everyone wants a SUV.  And a person still sees the occasional racy sports car.

Mostly today the guys don’t roll up their pants cuffs, though, and some do find themselves attracted to women.

Old Jules

The man who couldn’t cry

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.

Loudon Wainwright wrote and performed The Man Who Couldn’t Cry without making much of a splash.  Fairly typical of Loudon Wainwright, despite the fact he’s always had my vote for president or anything else he might want to do.

However, Johnny Cash is another man who has always had my vote and I’ll confess he does about as fine a job on the song as Wainwright.  As far as I know those two are the only people who’ve ever performed it.

Think about it.  We live in this amazing time.  The oldest, most musically astute of us probably couldn’t name more than a couple of 19th Century singers.  We know they sang and people loved their singing, Lola Montez, Lillian Langtry.  But we’ve never heard them do it.

For we 21st Century folks, though, Al Jolson’s still alive out there singing Mammy, Waiting on the Robert E Lee and Anniversary song.  In two part harmony with Lee Marvin singing I Was Born Under a Wandrin Star in Paint Your Wagon.  The Kingston Trio are their young selves being the Cumberland Three singing Civil War Songs, or as themselves rendering another South Coast and Seasons in the Sun.

It isn’t just the listening, either.  Incredibly, we can wander around on YouTube and watch young Lonnie Donnegan sing Jack of Diamonds and Chuck Berry perform Se La Vie Say the Old Folks.

A briefly popular song from 1961-62 used to run through my head, Dear One, by the Ravens.  I asked lots of people through the years if anyone remembered it with never a soul answering they did.  But there it is on YouTube.  Horrid song.  I can’t believe I loved it back when then was then.  But there you are.

But I’ve digressed.  I was listening to MP3 shuffling through songs, passing the time, and heard Johnny Cash singing The Man Who Couldn’t Cry.  I never recalled hearing it before.  Laughed and snorted, looked it up on YouTube to watch him sing it.  When Jeanne got home between jobs I played it for her to provide a laugh.

“Who’s that singing it?  That’s a Loudon Wainwright song!”

“Eh?  No, that’s Johnny Cash.”

“I know it’s a Loudon Wainwright song.  Look it up!”

Okay, spang robbed my macho.  Hell, until we met Jeanne had never heard of Loudon Wainwright.  [Nor a lot of her other favorite performers, I hasten to brag]  But here she is thanks to it being the 21st Century when all the singers of the 20th Century are still alive and young if they wanted to be, here’s Jeanne instructing me on whether that’s a Johnny Cash song, or a Loudon Wainwright song.

And the cool thing about that is the day is coming when nobody who loves Johnny Horton singing Miss Marcy will have been alive when Johnny Horton sang it.  People will probably dance to Al Jolson singing Anniversary Song and be as moved as they were in 1950.

At least as long as the Internet lasts.  Probably around December, this year.

Old Jules

Cats can’t sing either

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.

Old Hydrox has become a frequent singer in his dotage.  Jeanne described the ones happening several times per night lately as ‘annoying’.  And I haven’t found a way to discourage him doing it, nor thought of any explanation.

I tend to think he misses being around several cats, possibly [especially] Niaid, his litter-mate who went on permanent mouse patrol slightly over a year ago in Andrews, Texas.  We were all together 17 years, so I’d imagine if a cat’s capable of ‘missing’ another creature Niaid is one of his night songs.

On the other hand, it’s clear Shiva is a part of all this.  He’ll walk over and sit on the floor in front of the chair where she’s sleeping and begin the serenade until he runs out of lyrics.  Sometimes it’s Sweet Betsy from Pike, other times Otis Redding or Roy Orbison.  Fortunately that usually happens during the hours of daylight.

The night songs seem to be triggered by dreams, or by Shiva creeping through the living room where Hydrox and I bed down.  She has to go by here on the way to the litter box, a few laps of water, or to check out the food dishes.  And there’s no way she’s getting past here without the keen ears of Hydrox detecting it, head jerking around to stare.

Usually he’ll contemplate what he’s seen until she passes on her return trip.  Then he’ll jump to the floor and follow her with his immortal prose or a few stanzas of Pretty Woman Walk on By.  Or My Girl.

If he had a better command of English and had ever shown any signs of being susceptible to reasoned argument or persuasion I’d try it.  But a whispered 2:00 am yell at him only results in a brief pause and stare.  Getting up and chasing him around also only gets me back under the blankets with my teeth chattering and him carrying on where he left off.

Maybe I misinterpreting the song.  Hydrox might just be saying, “This getting old is hell.  I surely do miss ambition.”

Cyrano de Bergerac remembering the moon.

Old Jules