Spud is back in town and you know what that means… yes, wretched excess, and excessive excess, for that matter. Spoiled grape juice can really play havoc on one’s body at my age. It’s compounded by the fact that I really don’t drink much when he’s not here, so I lost the callus layer surrounding my liver. Tomb Raider is spending the weekend remotely (her kids are in town) so she’s missing the spectacle and much opportunity for mockery.

Speaking of age, there are birthdays today, but a deficit of ones I find Notable. Nonetheless, we can mention a guy whose birthday was also last week (how that happens is beyond me…); proof that the Irish can swing; a brilliant scientist who stepped on the third rail of honesty; a rancher who supplied Woody Allen; a guy who taught me that if you speak English with a German accent, you’ll make Germans think you’re speaking German; one of our better outlaws; one fourth of the funniest and cleverest quartet this side of Monty Python; the real secret identity of Pie; a cousin of mine who has made some of the best and worst films ever; a guy who knew everything; my dad’s fantasy woman (and she did have some spectacular assets); and the model for Marjorie Taylor Greene.

Let us Link.

 

“Right after Hamas publishes a report on an independent investigation of October 7. Now go fuck yourself.”

 

Let a thousand diplomas bloom.

 

“Go ahead, prove us wrong.” 

 

I’m sure this research was rigorous.

 

For all those people who made election bets with me, I like my money in crisp, clean new bills.

 

So much for the “Remain in Mexico” policy.

 

I would favor changing our constitution to let him be our president.

 

I often like to listen to music on a birthday, and I had a rotation of Gerry Mulligan playing in my office. This one came up and given that it’s one of the Old Man’s favorite songs…