Back In The Saddle Again

13407That was a pleasant little breather — a 3-day weekend followed by my birthday.  A perfect opportunity to put the cortex in neutral and avoid the computer.

( So how come I get more hits on days when I DON’T  post?  Maybe NicFit Kid has the answer.  Always an honor to hear from him.  Still in Jersey, Kid?)

Anyway, I get a card.  “Forget about the past, there’s nothing you can do,” it advises on the cover.  Hmm.  Wise.  Inside: “And forget about the present — I didn’t get you one.”

Ha!

Let’s move on world culture:

RANKIN INLET, Nunavut —  Canada’s governor general ate a slaughtered seal’s raw heart in a show of support to the country’s seal hunters, a display that a European Union spokeswoman on Tuesday called “too bizarre to acknowledge.”

Governor General Michaelle Jean, the representative of Britain’s Queen Elizabeth II as Canada’s head of state, gutted the seal and swallowed a slice of the mammal’s organ late Monday after an EU vote earlier this month to impose a ban on seal products on grounds that the seal hunt is cruel.

Asked Tuesday whether her actions were a message to Europe, Jean replied, “Take from that what you will.”  —  World AP

Wow.  I admire a Governor General who swallows.  No comment from the seal, of course, but that reminds me of a bad joke:  A baby seal walks into a bar.  “What’ll it be?” asks the bartender.  “Anything but a Canadian Club,” says the baby seal.

Wait, there’s more.  Former Senator Bob Graham admitted publicly that he himself committed voter fraud as a young man:

The Little White House could have been demolished for condos, but then-Florida Gov. Bob Graham phoned new owner Pritam Singh about its historical importance. Singh deeded the home and one acre of botanical gardens to the governor and cabinet of Florida.

”I tried to be helpful,” Graham said last week.  “The first person I ever voted for president was Truman. I was in sixth grade.”  — Miami Hurled

This assumes that in the 1940s, Bobby Applecheeks was not of voting age in sixth grade when he cast his ballot for Harry Truman.   Maybe he was 21 — the man never impressed me (or his Senate colleagues) as the sharpest arrow in the quiver, so he could have been a serial flunker.   That’s the sort of well-connected, upwardly mobile Deep South Dunce that infests every level of leadership and government service, isn’t it?

And how many of his little underage classmates also voted that year?  I wonder what they bribed them with — Tootsie Roll Pops?   Wildroot Creme Oil?  Candy cigarettes (“they’re coooooool!”).

Rereading this, I suspect my brain remains in neutral.  Or maybe reverse.  Aah well.  Another birthday.  I’m old.

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10 Responses to Back In The Saddle Again

  1. Ms Calabaza says:

    Happy Birthday Squatty. It hasn’t been the same without ya. Welcome back . . .

  2. Rim Shot says:

    A horse walks into a bar. “Why the long face?” asks the bartender.

    I could go on. Out.

  3. Fran G'Panni says:

    “…new owner Pritam Singh …”

    There’s a name from the past. He was all the rage here in KW for a while, buying up property left and right for redevelopment. An Indian Donald Trump. We called his projects “Turban Removal.”

  4. 8 Bells says:

    Happy birthday. Are you older than Bob Graham? Did you vote for Truman in kindergarten?

  5. Al Gore says:

    Say what you want about Bob Graham, but looking back, if I’d put him on the ticket instead of that Lieberman schmuck I’d have been president in 2000.

  6. Kent Standit says:

    Hey Al: If you’d have put a HAM FUCKING SANDWICH on your ticket instead of Joe Lieberman you’d be president in 2000. You clueless schmenk.

  7. Squathole says:

    Kent: Classic. Welcome back. Have you been here all this time? Thanks.

  8. NicFitKid says:

    Screw the seal. Those damned pinnipeds eat penguins, and sometimes each other.

    Happy Birthday, Squats. And yes, I’m still in South Jersey. I may have to plan a second escape.

  9. Squathole says:

    Thanks, ‘Kid. You’re coming into Traffic Season, when Jersey closes the roads and opens the detours to (1) honk off the shoobies and (2) generate business at roadside stands. Plan for a slo-mo escape.

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