OK, I’ll admit to being a bit more depressed than usual, but still, I feel the need to hoist the black flag and begin slitting throats. Or more aptly, feeding a woodchipper. The Teams have an iron grip, and changing from one to the other won’t change a damn thing other than giving an illusion of change (what was the increase in debt from 2017-2021? Do we still have Obamacare? Has there been any slowdown in the growth of DHS, NSA, DEA, FBI,?). We’re just fucked. Gord has it right, and I pray that we’re not too far gone to really shake shit up. But I don’t think it’s going to happen, we’re far and away most likely to be past the point of no return. But at least the Canadians have shown that you can engender at least a minor degree of hesitancy, and you can show unambiguously the corruption, evil, and stupidity of our “leaders.” So we got that goin’ for us. Which is nice.

Speaking of nice, the inevitable birthdays include a guy who always makes me hungry when I read his stuff; someone whose example should have been followed by every First Lady; the greatest American artist, in both senses of that phrase; a mixed bag, but generally a good guy on the Supreme Court (who, in his favor, despised Hugo Black); a guy who, before he went coocoo for Cocoa Puffs, was solid; a guy who fit right in to the Chicago mayoral traditions; a guy who provided fodder for Tom Wolfe; one of the few women who didn’t fuck Captain Kirk; a musician whose lionization I still don’t understand; a pitcher who took losing very seriously; a guy who is famous because… actually, it escapes me; and a decent wide receiver, but no Jerry Rice.

Whatever, there’s Links.

 

I am making a prediction about the next sudden and mysterious accidental death.

 

“If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face— for ever.”

 

Moving-not-moving.

 

And in that vein, here’s an all-out pathos attack, complete with “food insecurity” slogans.

 

That is one enormous fucking sixth grader.

 

My next business venture- chicken masks.

 

Every once in a while, Rand Paul says something that pleases me.

 

Old Guy Music is nuts. An all-star band from 1975, here doing Chick Corea’s Spain, with Chick at the piano and Bill Watrous on trombone, not to mention Stanley Clarke, Hubert Laws, George Benson, and Lennie White. Watrous was SP’s favorite (she’s a trombonist) and a surefire guarantee that you weren’t going to be the dorkiest looking person on the stage.