Another day on the road. 12 more hours of NPR, the only station I could get in the boonies that wasn’t awful religious radio. Pray for me and the fate of my immortal soul.

Birthdays are here and we mustn’t forget a guy who could count to 100; a guy who looked like the cartoon image of Emmanuel Goldstein; one of my childhood heroes who knew how to pull the strings; King of the breathless non-sequiturs; a great comedic inspiration; a guy who was the prototypical oddball sci fi writer; a guy who did the economic equivalent of the captain of the Titanic (“What iceberg?”); a wonderfully empty-skulled ginger; co-star of a crappy TV show; a guy who inspired one of Spinal Tap’s drummers; the quintessence of pretentious and ignorant bullshit for fun and profit; and easily the hottest world leader of my lifetime.

 

What a shocking accusation.

 

I can now attest to this from first-hand experience.

 

Department of Absolutely Futile Gestures.

 

Did you know that there’s dogs specifically trained to sniff out jizz?

 

Cuing it up for Biden.

 

An actually interesting trademark case. You know which side I’m on.

 

Kulaks and wreckers.

 

How could Old Guy Music get any better than three amazing voices in perfect harmony doing a great song?