Category: humor

Wenzdaz Theme Music

Greetings to my fellow humans and coffee ants. It’s Wenzda! Humpda! December 17 2025.

Ashlandians find ourselves in warmer weather with less fog. We’re hanging at about 40 degrees F. Light gray clouds with low bellies soldier past sunlit dark green evergreens. The clouds tear and break as they meet the trees. Another slice of sky features darker clouds mingling with bright blue sky. All shines with a rainy sheen, waiting to dry off. Today’s high will strike 47 F, ‘they’ say. We’re unsure they’ll be correct.

Slop is the word of the year. Hard to argue with that. In this information age, disinformation sown and furthered by AI’s efforts to entertain and uneducate the masses while undermining political will and decision-making owns many media outlets and social platforms.

Some of this is deliberately done. Feeling down? Go shopping! Look at these deals!

Not into shopping? Tune into NASCAR. NBA, NFL, college football, college basketball, hockey, volleyball, oh, boy the Olympics are coming! The world cup!

Eat our new food! Buy our new stuff! Watch our new show! Enjoy our new movie! Don’t like them, then watch the old movies, the old sitcoms, the old dramas, and remember how it used to be. Don’t think. Just sit back and relax. Let us take care of you.

What a way to end the year, mired in slop, wondering WTF is going to happen next year. Will the U.S. wage open war on Venezuela or go all in with Russia against the Ukraine? Trump is all for that. War for peace. “We can only win peace if we’re strong enough to fight for it,” he’ll snarl. And enough Americans are simple enough to eagerly nod agreement. We got all that military power. Shame not to use it, right?

Thinking about slop as the word of the year has The Neurons laughing. “Slop is the word is the word that you heard. It’s got groove, it’s got meaning. Slop is the time, is the place, is the motion. Slop is the way we are feeling.”

The Neurons might be on to something this time.

Anyway, they slotted “Grease” as sung by Frankie Valli in the movie, Grease, in the morning mental music stream. Except we’re singing ‘slop’ instead of ‘grease’.

Okay, coffee is greasing me up. Hope peace and grace break through the slop and make a cameo sometime in 2025’s final days. Here we go again. Cheers

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Twozdaz Wandering Thoughts

I live on Clay Street. Diane Street is three blocks away. It’s to the north, so it’s ‘up north’. But it’s at a lower elevation, so it’s ‘down the road.’ I pretty comfortably hold these two ideas in mind, even though they might appear to be at odds with one another. I suspect that this is why so many of The Neurons are packing up and abandoning me.

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Twozdaz Theme Music

Twozda, December 16, 2025, has settled on Ashlandia. And it’s brought fog again. Like, hey, thanks for the gift, but we’re full up on fog. More sunshine or light rain would be welcomed. A hard rain came yesterday for a few hours. Welcome change to the fog and the month’s first precipitation. On the sunny side of weather information, the various systems are aligned regarding the temperature and current weather, agreeing across the board that it’s foggy and 50 F. I provided feedback to Alexa and several online weather sites this week that they were getting our weather wrong. Like one day is a fluke, two days is a coincidence but three days is messed up. Not saying that I did it, but I do believe others are like me out there and told the systems, hey, you’re getting our weather wrong.

Mom and sis have reached detente again. Mom’s was probably accidental. Sis admitted, Mom is probably experiencing dementia. Sis has backed off from moving Mom back to her house. Sis acknowledges that she’ll probably need to continue provide food, shelter, and assistance for me. Sis has rejected the idea of having Mom declared incompetent and moved to a home of some kind at this point, as that requires an effort she’s not willing to put out. I don’t blame her. So much of this falls on her as she’s there and the other sisters have checked out, and I’m across the country. Sis and I do a lot of texting. I try to be as supportive as possible and keep my criticisms and disagreement low key and gentle. I think she appreciates and enjoys that outlet and that’s the best I can do at this point.

Movement against Trump seems to be rising. People are saying, enough. Some of them are even Republicans. Hope that continues growing. His affordability tour is flailing, I’ve read. He goes off script into familiar rants, which are now wearing thin. Attendance is poor. Doesn’t help that Deceiving Donny keeps talking about how prices are coming down, or that affordability is a hoax. Too many are hurting from the truth. Food and energy prices are not done as Deceitful Donny keeps boasting.

The machine behind Death Donny is grinding on, though, dragging down everything known as the United States for the last century except the name and the flag. Wouldn’t put it past Trump and his regime, though, for him to announce that they’re changing the flag and dropping the stars for blue states. Just the dimwitted, smirking, asinine behavior that they consistently show, crowing about how they love the nation, how patriotic they are, how they’re doing things in the name of saving the nation or keep it secure. It’s all garbage talk, and polls show people aren’t buying it much these days.

I have Little Feat playing “Dixie Chicken” in the morning mental music stream. Yes, that’s wholly derived from a dream line where someone said, “Do you have brain fog?” Thinking about that question and the events surrounding the dream, The Neurons began playing the 1973 song for me. Strange, but most of the rest of the dream was about me trying to shoot a woman. I was being coerced to do it and didn’t like it at all.

That’s it for the morning summary. Hope and grace come by and give you a hug and a kiss. Coffee and I are having a visit. Happy holidays to you. Time to busta move. Cheers

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Mundaz Wandering Thoughts

I park the car and head up the street towards the coffee house. As it happens on other days, four more people are making the same trek. We all share an urgency and focus to our movement. I think again, we’re like ants going toward a piece of food, and amuse myself again, thinking, coffee ants. I can almost picture the others with waving antennae…

Coffee ants. Coffants.

Brewants?

Espressants?

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Floofcretion

Floofcretion (floofinition) – 1. A product of animal discharges, body ejections, shedding, etc.. Origins: 1846, from A Home Guide for Life with Animals.

In Use: “Michael loved his cats but admitted that their floofcretion — hairballs, shedded fur and whiskers, and litter box donations — sometimes wore him out.”

2. The quality of an animal’s ability to be cautious or reserved. Origins: Middle flooflish from the 14th century.

In Use: “The two puppies were completely different, with Normal being the soul of floofcretion, never barking or whining, always happy and gently playful, while his sister, Abby, terrorized feet, shoes, socks, and furniture, raging with loud barks and growls whenever anyone exercised the temerity to approach the house.”

3. Ability to right to judge, rule, or govern an animal’s sounds, activities, or behavior. Origins: 17th century, noted first written use found in A Book of Rulings for the Governance of Animals in Homes.

In Use: “Many humans think that if they let animals like cats and dogs into their homes, floofcretion is theirs by fiat, but the animals often turn the tables on humans when it comes to matters like what the animal can eat, where they can sleep, what they can attack, when they can race around the house…and other irritating but endearing flooftivities.”

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Satyrdaz Theme Music

8 AM. Satyrda, December 13, 2025. I put the green bag out for collection. Frowned in dismal frustration. The fog was back.

Fog has been sitting on us like a cat who decides you’re their favorite napping spot. Except a cat is usually pretty warm. This fog is not. It’s been days of cold, lingering fog. Entire week except yesterday afternoon.

Yesterday afternoon brought us a break. The fog pulled back. Sunshine spilled in. Temperatures jumped into the forties. Yes, I said to myself. The fog is gone. I figured it was probably a premature celebration but hoped I was wrong. I wasn’t wrong. It was premature, with the fog back with the same intensity this morning that it displayed on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday…

Back in the house, I asked Alexa about the weather. “Forty degrees and clear,” she said.

I checked my system. 29 degrees F. Looked out the window.

“Why do you ask Alexa every morning when you always think she’s wrong?” my wife asked.

It was a reasonable question. I’d asked myself the same. “I want to know how wrong it is,” I said.

Going online, I checked Southern Oregon University’s weather station down on The Farm. It also said 29 F. But online national systems were telling me, no, it’s 40 F. One even claims it’s 50 F and sunny. Such a disparity.

A Facebook memory reminds me that ten years ago, we were dealing with heavy snow on this date. This has been a terribly dry but cold December so far.

The neighbor’s yard on the left of my yard, ten years ago.

While looking out the window today, I thought, I don’t think the sun’s coming out today. Of course, that’s an irrational thought. The sun was out there, as it always is as we spin and race through space. Just that fog was preventing it from reaching us in the strong and meaningful ways that I prefer.

The Neurons caught my thoughts. They’re always spying on me, so I wasn’t surprised. They responded with “Change” by Blind Melon in the morning mental music stream. No doubt, the first line influenced them: “I don’t feel the sun’s comin’ out today.” Beyond weather and the sun, I find the song a thoughtful reflection about feeling disenchanted and challenging yourself about what you’re going to do about it.

Coffee has come to save me again in what little ways it can. Hope peace and grace come by your place for a bit. Here we go, one more time. Cheers

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Fridaz Theme Music

Good morning from Ashlandia. It’s foggy today, Frida, December 12, 2025. Think I’ll return to bed. Sleep it out until the fog is gone.

I brew about that while I make my morning brew. What aggrieves me a lot about this is that Alexa is oblivious to the fact. It tells me, “It’s 41 degrees with clear skies in Ashland. Today’s high will be fifty blah blah blah.”

I stopped listening to it. My system says its 31 F. My eyes tell me it’s foggy. No sunshine, no sunshine. Alexa is wrong with the weather today just as she was wrong yesterday and the day before. I don’t think Alexa provided correct weather on any day this week. I don’t know if this is a symptom of Alexa’s failings or a failure caused by the National Weather Service. I further don’t know if the NWS failure was caused by Trump’s DOGE cuts or something else.

Fog socked us in all day yesterday. It’s a freezin’ fog sort, clinging to your exposed skin like it’s trying to suck your warmth out of you. Sort of like some sort of horror movie critter. What’s also interesting about being enclosed in heavy fog for days on end is that we used to get NWS warnings issued for that condition. We were getting them last week. We received none this week.

Photo of downtown Ashland, Oregon, taken in the afternoon, 12/11/2025.

The Trump Regime has successfully created a fog of confusion, distrust, and uncertainty. It’s not just in the areas of the weather and weather warnings, either.

Today’s song is by The Dave Matthews Band. My wife uses the expression, “What would you (say or do) if I told you (something about something).” She was using it yesterday. Paying attention to that, The Neurons brought the song, “What Would You Say” into the morning mental music stream.

The jaunty 1994 song features some interesting lines, such as, “Don’t drop the big one.” A song for our times. Fun video to watch, as the band invests strong energy and passion into their music.

Headlines tell me that Trump pardoned Tina Peters for her election theft efforts. He’s loyal to the lawless. Her pardon does nothing for her because he’s Fed and she’s incarcerated under state law. IEarlier this week, Trump was threatening the International Criminal Court not to go after him or any of his cabinet members for the murders and other crimes they’ve done, just as Putin would warn. Trump also tried bullying Indiana into gerrymandering their districts to save his rear against losing more seats. The Indiana GOP turned him down.

Trumpy Dumpty is also on a tour to convince everyone that he and the GOP are successfully making everything affordable again even if affordability is just a hoax and Trump says it’s not his fault, anyway, it’s all because of Trump’s favorite scapegoat, President Biden, even though…Trump used to campaign on stopping inflation and making everything better on Day 1. Heather Cox Richardson provides a lucid summary in her December 11, 2025 post.

That Trump’s boasting, cajoling, and bullying has a desperate frenzy urgency can’t be denied. He’s losing the plot and he’s losing popularity. Democrats are pretty firmly against him. The young are turning against him, as are Latinos and Independents. Soon, all that will remain will be white Republicans. And when they realize how unpopular, unsuccessful, and unintelligible he is, they, too, will quietly walk away.

Got my coffee. Think I’ll add a little peace and grace to it. Hope you have some peace and grace in your Frida. Here we go. Cheers

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Thirstdaz Wandering Thoughts

I’ve lost over twenty pounds. With that came a reduction in my waist size. Now my pants are too large for me. Friggin’ swimming in them. Fortunately, I kept some pants which were too small for me. Now I fit in them again.

Large part of my weight reduction in my mind comes from exercising. With my exercising now, I can look back and appreciate how much I was hampered from exercising by health issues for the last few years. I’m running and exercising much more consistently and intensely than I’ve done since COVID struck. Back then was when I broke my arm. Feels good, too. Energy levels are up. Thinking is clearer. Mood is better.

My issues forced dietary changes on me. Embracing them, I eat more mindfully, turning down many things, enduring hunger. Like, right now, in the coffee shop, they’ve heated up quiche for someone. Smells exquisite. Another person is wolfing down a cherry turnover. Looks really good, know what I’m saying?

I thank the dawgs for my turnaround. Good medical interventions, often triggered by emergencies, saved me. As did my wife, who had to endure my emergencies, issues, and recoveries.

Just need to keep it up and keep it off. Yeah, there’s the eternal rub.

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Thirstdaz Theme Music

It looks like we might have some fog today in Foglandia. It’s Thirstda, December 11, 2025. The fog landed on us yesterday morning and has not abated. My friend came out of meeting last night and said, “Wow, this is Jack the Ripper kind of fog.” Our forecast for today, given yesterday morning, promised sunshine and a possible record high in the low to mid-sixties. That was yesterday. Now we’re mumbling about maybe hitting 50 F. It’s 37 F now. The claims made yesterday for today have been shifted to tomorrow. Feels like a con game. Wonder how much of Trump DOGE cuts cause the diminishing weather forecast accuracy?

Another night of intriguing dreams featuring cars, women, and building had me wondering about stuff this morning. Traversing the assimilating and understanding functions of parsing the dreams inspired Les Neurons. “Clocks” by Coldplay floated into the morning mental music stream. The song’s lyrics go, “Confusion never stops. Closing walls and ticking clocks. Gonna come back and take you home. I could not stop that you now know, singing.” Which pretty well reflected part of one remembered dream sequence. Actually, minus the clocks. It was but the sentiment of confusion.

Speaking of the sentiment of confusion, have you heard Deceiving Donny’s recent speeches? Yes, he’s a rambling vocal trainwreck. Naturally, MAGA reactions are, “But Biden.” Always looking to the past, they are, always hunting for an escape route to avoid facing reality. Read a piece which tickled me from MPS, Case Study: In Your Guts, You Know He’s Nuts.

Yes, we know he’s nuts. So does AI as it reviews some sample shitalk outta the great mango babbler. Trump’s probably the greatest babbler the world has ever known. He can babble like no babbler has ever babbled before. People listening to him often remark, “What an amazing babbler. What a stunning babbler.” After listening to Dizzy Donny’s babbling, people often march up, shake his hand, and say, “Sir, that was the most beautiful babbling I’ve heard the pleasure of hearing.” One man said he told Trumpy Dumpty, “In my two hundred fifty years of life, I’ve never heard greater babble coming out of anybody like this before, let alone the President of the United States. What babble! Amazing babble! BEAUTIFUL BABBLE!!!”

I was with friends having a beer and talking last night. One related the death of his brothers. One older, one younger. Both being treated. One was denied Oregon’s “Death with dignity” to pursue assisted suicide because he was being treated and following a course of stuff supposed to fight the disease, etc. But the side effect of said treatment were blood clots which caused strokes, diminishing his capacity to speak, move, breathe, etc. Sickening and exasperating.

On that note, time to rev up the life engine and plunge into my daily routines. Which mostly circulates around going out and writing. Writing is going well but consumes so much life band. My wife is tremendously accommodating of my efforts. She deserves several prizes. Hope I can reward her faith and support with success someday. Meanwhile, onward. Cheers

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