Category: humor

Tuesday’s Theme Music – Wrong

Ashland, southern Oregon. Tuesday, September 15, 2026.

Going to warm up to 80 here, giving us a warm late summer day. 57 F under blue skies.

I spent time on the phone with Mom the last several days. Or tried. I would call her and she wouldn’t answer. She would call me but I would be out doing things.

Per a text agreement, I called her at 9 AM yesterday. Didn’t get her. She called me hours later. They took her to Forbes Hospital in an ambulance. Another UTI infection. Severe pain. She was given an antibiotic by IV.

She asked me to ask some favors of Gina, my sister who is Mom’s primary helper among the family in the area. Gina agreed but warned that if Mom said anything nasty, Gina would cut her off.

But Gina is helping Mom, visiting her in the hospital, helping her sit up to eat lunch (chef’s salad), sending us a photo of Mom in bed. Mom is getting an IV of Ertapenem now. Gina stayed longer with Mom, telling Mom stories and making her laugh. Peace is at hand for a few hours.

As for Trump and the United States…

Satisfying that the Roberts Court ruled against Trump and the mail-in ballot scam he’d concocted with the USPS. I laughed and shook my head when I read comments on the ruling that ‘the liberal judges had done it again’. Yes, such a VERY liberal Roberts Court, isn’t it?

Naturally, Trump attacked the justices he appointed for this decision.

Your Trump Quote of the Day:

Clearly, the deep state got to those justices…right? That’s how the Trump and MAGA mind work.

Donald Trump Jr had his wedding paid in part by a Russian oligarch. Many are making a big thing about it. But c’mon, man, you know how expensive weddings are. And Donald Trump Jr barely has a crypto to his name. Sad face. So happy that a Russian oligarch was there to bail those young lovers out. I’m sure there’s no sweet deal going on there, no reciprocity expected, no politics, scheming, and conning involved. No, this was just an oligarch being magnanimous to the billionaire president’s poor son.

Besides, it’s not like the wedding was a lavish affair. Like most Americans, it was a small thing, involving only friends and family, lasting only three days, held on two private islands, with a fireworks show.

I’m sure that Americans struggling with food and gas security, worrying about paying off credit card bills, coping with the rising cost of healthcare, gas, water, and utilities totally understand.

A Federal judge also ruled that Trump’s name can’t be added to the Kennedy Center. Judge Christopher Cooper was pretty clear about it:

“Simply put,” the board “cannot install memorials for President Trump or anyone or anything else at the Kennedy Center without Congress’s blessing.”

Thank you, Judge Cooper.

Too bad someone couldn’t tell Trump that Congress needs to approve what he does with the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool and the White House east wing.

For the record, Trump’s Iran War continues, driving up inflation, causing death, and costing our nation and world.

With things going so poorly for Donald Trump on multiple fronts, I expect some fresh AI-generated posting featuring Trump as someone else who is more respected and admired than him. Either that, or he’ll launch more military attacks, screw up another monument or Federal building, or complain about how much he’s not appreciated. Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL! never rests.

Busy day ahead for me. Don’t get me wrong — I have a cushy life. ‘Busy’ means medical, dental, and haircut appointments, and I’m always staying busy with writing. Reading, too, as I’m trying to finish reading “John of John” before the library summons me to return the book. And house and yard work.

Thinking about being wrong, as in, “Trump is always so wrong”, as in war, tariffs, economy, manufacturing, grass, AI, history, intelligence…I have Dr John’s 1973 song in mind. “Right Place, Wrong Time” is a fun blend of rock, pop, R&B and funk. He has a lot of fun with the lyrics.

Love the trombone player in this video. She’s enjoying herself.

Sample Lyrics

I been the right place
But it must have been the wrong time
My head was in a place
But I’m having such a good time
I been running trying to get hung up in my mind
Got to give myself a little talking to this time

Just need a little brain salad surgery
Got to cure this insecurity
I been in the wrong place
But it must have been the right time
I been in the right place
But it must have been the wrong song

I been in the right vein
But it seems like the wrong arm
I been in the right world
But it seems wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong

Slipping, dodging, sneaking
Creeping hiding out down the street
See me life shaking with every who I meet
Refried confusion is making itself clear
Wonder which way do I go to get on out of here

Time to go out and see the world and let the world view me again.

May this day pass for you in comfort and security, perhaps with a little booze.

Cheers

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Monday’s Theme Music — Passing On

Ashland, southern Oregon. Monday, September 14, 2026.

Autumn continues showing in the valley here, with leaves putting on their fall foliage of reds, golds, yellows, and orange. Leaves haven’t begun aggressively falling.

It’s 57 F right now. Today’s high will be 79 F. We’re going into summer’s last fling. It feels and smells more like autumn today.

Another rock guitarist passed away. Cheetah Chrome, lead guitarist for the Dead Boys, passed away at 71. I had their debut album, “Young, Loud, and Snotty”. Picked it up when it came out in 1977. My wife, mother, sisters, and cousins all professed to hate it.

I got great joy out of their response. Punk wasn’t about being ‘liked’. I admired how it reshaped what music could, should, and would be. People often prefer things be put into neat boxes, especially pop music, art, and literature.

It also pleased me to surprise others that I, a young Air Force NCO with, trim hair, tidy dress, enjoyed the raucousness that punk often delivered.

In these times of Trump, I think punk, rock, and rap all need to make a resurgence, establish a new identity. Don’t know if that’s in the young musicians of these times. Of course, I’m not tuned in to it. Older now, to label what I am. *smile*

Here’s to the punkers, and to Chrome. Here is “Sonic Reducer.”

May the punker in you never waste away.

Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music — Goner

Ashland, southern Oregon. Sunday, September 13, 2026.

Autumn is moving in like it owns the place. Summer looks like a goner. It’s 60 F right now, and feels chillier than that. Rain fell this morning. Sunshine has arrived but today’s high is projected to be an anemic 70 F.

Mom’s story goes on. She and I spoke briefly Friday and Saturday. I called again today but she didn’t answer. She seems like she’s in a good mood. Her voice is soft and weak. Long periods of silence dominate as she catches her breath or pauses to remember what she was saying. She often becomes bitter and angry, complaining about her daughters, her room, and problems that she has.

I’ve been a little harsh and angry with my sisters. Ali commented on a previous post saying that she thought my sisters were being strict.

Ali is right. This is exactly what I told my sisters to act months ago. They are acting in everyone’s best interest, limiting contact with Mom, using just one of us as a front.

I have the best relationship with Mom, so it falls to me to the messenger. I’m a little emotionally fatigued by the role. It’s stacking on top of other things happening in life.

That’s how it goes. Life doesn’t take time outs.

Reading the digital news today, it’s easy at this point to write Trump off as a goner. His popularity is falling but most prices and the overall cost of living is not. Some prescription drug prices fell but not nearly as many as he claims.

Oil prices are not falling as Trump’s Iran War continues.

Some records are falling, such as the Atlantic hurricanes record. This is the longest period on record, 103 days since the season began, without a hurricane in the Atlantic Ocean. El Nino is being blamed.

I’ve always liked the word goner. I heard it mournfully declared of people in many western movies when I was a child. Things like, “Looks like Clem is a goner,” was part of the dialogue.

So I’m practicing saying it about Trump. “Looks like Trump is a goner.” I could be speaking of him politically, metaphorically, or about his popularity. “Looks like Trump is a goner” works in all three areas.

Thinking about Trump being a goner brought the song into my morning mental music stream. “Goner” is a melancholy twenty one pilots song which was released in 2015. The song has simple lyrics and a straightforward structure.

Sample Lyrics

I’m a goner, somebody catch my breath
I’m a goner, somebody catch my breath
I wanna be known by you
I wanna be known by you
I’m a goner, somebody catch my breath
I’m a goner, somebody catch my breath
I wanna be known by you
I wanna be known by you

h/t to Genius.com

May good times and good health fill your hours today and tonight, and on in an unbroken string of days, weeks, and months.

Cheers

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The Negotiations

Grandma and her granddaughter came into the coffee shop. They’re lovely regulars.

Today, the granddaughter declared, “I want ice cream.”

Grandma said, “No, you can’t have ice cream for lunch.”

“I want ice cream.”

“How ’bout chicken noodle soup?”

The granddaughter pouted. “I want chocolate ice cream.”

“How ’bout if you eat chicken noodle soup first and then you can have a little ice cream?”

“I will have chicken noodle soup and then chocolate ice cream,” the little girl agreed.

They moved to the counter and ordered the soup.

The barista said, “I’m sorry, we’re out of the soup.”

Grandma was amazed. “You’re out of the soup?”

“How ’bout a piece of pizza focaccia bread for lunch?” the barista suggested.

As grandma and her granddaughter agreed, the barista said, “Oh, no. We’re out of focaccia pizza, too.”

“You’re out of the pizza thing, too?” Grandma was amazed.

A breakfast burrito was suggested as a compromise.

No ice cream was ever ordered.

Yet.

2

The Toilets Dream

Last night’s dream was a masterclass in chaos. Had a lot of fecal matter, too.

Backing up a little, I was again in the military, running some operations center. They’d been having issues there and I arrived to fix them. Which I immediately started doing, explaining it to the young airmen there. They began to understand what I was doing.

Weird thing was, the operations center wasn’t the classic secure and windowless, vaultlike facility where I usually worked during my military career. No, this place was part of some kind of large and busy convention center. People were coming and going. Loud, it was getting busier.

After arriving and doing some things at the ops center, I drifted out and changed clothes. Well, I basically took off everything except my underwear. Then I decided to go back to work to ensure everything was okay. To do that, I donned a short, furry pink robe that barely covered my rear end. Wearing only it and my undies, off I went to work.

Musicians were finishing a conference in the ops center, something which was entirely aligned with what I expected. Although they didn’t have instruments, I knew they were musicians, holding a meeting in the ops center conference room. I talked with them a bit, asking about how it had gone, small talk.

Others were impatiently waiting to use the conference room. I rushed around to get it ready for them but so many people were going in and out that I struggled to get anything done. Part of my cleaning was to check the commodes.

The first was out on a busy floor’s center. On carpet. No walls, no way to have privacy.

Which didn’t surprise me. Getting to the toile, I found – OMG, it was completely full with feces!

I was disgusted and angry. What was wrong with people that they kept using it when it obviously not working? How did they even do it? They would have had to squat over the toilet to avoid the piled crap.

I had no idea how to clean it out; there was no water, no way to use a plunger. I would need to shovel that shit out first. I was going to find someone else to do that, and that was an issue for later.

There was another toilet availab. I rushed to check it, confirm it was okay, and tell everyone to use it. But guess what? It, too, was stopped up. It at least had water and wasn’t as full but as soon as I put a plunger in, feces-filled water slopped out.

Nuts. Filling conspicuous in my short pink robe and bare white legs, I decided to go change before trying to fix this mess. Along the way, I ran into my superiors and gave them an update on the twin messes. Then I went on to change.

Dream end

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The Net’s Take on Trump This Week

Thank you to those in Ireland who took the time to make Trump a greeting for his pending visit.

h/t to Daily Kos.

Couldn’t put it better myself.

Over in sports, they’re talking about the Trump Curse. Two of the three teams Trump he mentioned as capable of winning the Superbowl, New England and the Los Angeles Rams, lost their season’s first game. It’s a long season, though. Trump will probably deny he ever said it.

Trump is scrambling like a quarterback under a fierce pass rush, trying to buy time, searching for ways to remain in power. First was the effort to block voting by mail, now thrown out by another court — or was it Republican efforts to gerrymander their way to power? The two actions were being done in parallel.

More recently came the $5K ‘Trump Dividend’, money Trump is willing to pay out of the nation’s funds if his party stays in power.

 “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

On to the net.

And a little satire…

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An Aston Martin Dream

Young again, middle-aged, I was with my wife and others in this place with blue carpets. I don’t know why the others were present, but I was there to see a doctor. The doctor, young, White female, with, with short, dark hair, briefly saw me.

“You need surgery,” she said, indicating my neck. “We’ll do it today.”

That pleased me although I was surprised that my neck was to be operated on. I waited for the my scheduled time to arrive. I noticed the others began dressing up. My wife emerged wearing a dark suit with a white shirt. From overheard snippets, I realized that everyone else was waiting for surgery as well.

I was taken back; I’d not seen the doctor examine any of them. As people came out dressed up, the doctor began telling people when she would see them. Hastily I dressed like the rest, in a black suit with a white shirt and tie, but laughed at it as I did, thinking, this is silly.

Then – poof – the surgery was completed. I didn’t notice a thing but I knew it was done. It’d been so quick and simple, it was completed in an eyeblink.

I encountered my sister-in-law. She and I went off to await everyone else finishing off. I began helping some children drawing with crayons. I ended up with crayon on my white cuffs. While wondering how I was going to clean those off, my SIL showed up with a similar problem. I then took a paper towel and blotted the colors off. I shared what I was doing with her and she started doing the same.

We talked while we did that. I asked when she was going home and how long it would take her. Then I remembered that she lived in Florida. No, she answered with surprise. “I live just an hour and a half away. I’m taking my boyfriend’s train him.”

I hadn’t met her boyfriend but I knew of him. My wife arrived. She and I talked with my SIL and my wife and I announced that we would go get my SIL and her boyfriend some food for their trip home. We went out and bought very large sandwiches with French fries. We ate while we were there.

Then we rushed back to give them their food. They were already gone. We looked down the track to see a three-car train pulling away, which amused me and my wife.

We then needed to go deliver a package. I jumped into my car, a gorgeous and expensive Aston Martin roadster, green, with a white interior. I raced down the highway at very high speeds, overtaking many cars. Then, seeing a line of cars breaking, I slowed down and moved left.

Good thing I did, I told myself, as we overtook a long line of cars and trucks pulling travel trailers. They were stopped. I worried that we wouldn’t be able to mail my package.

Then I pulled up to a booth. Jumping out of the car with my package, I told him what I was doing. He was short, solemn, round Black guy. He listened and worked as I apologized for the state of my package and for not having it correctly prepared.

He shrugged that off, saying something like, “No problem.” I thought the packaging needed to be replaced. He consulted with a co-worker. They agree, it just needed a new clear plastic bag. He put that on, then grinned and told me, all down.

I laughed, surprised at how easy it went. Returning to my car, I prepared to drive away.

Dream end.

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Thursday’s Theme Music — Stroking

Ashland, southern Oregon. Thursday, September 10, 2026.

Heat is in the air again today. Sunshine sluices down between scattered clouds. 83 degrees F as of now, we’re looking for a high that’s ten degrees more.

I’m trying to negotiate a peace between Mom and one of my sisters. I’ve written before about my younger sister, Gina. She put in a lot of work helping Mom over the years. Gina’s husband, Pat, was right beside her.

When Mom’s partner, Frank, died at 95 last October, Mom was put into a bad situation. Given her needs and medical challenges, she couldn’t live alone in her home. Gina and Pat took it upon themselves to make space for Mom in their home, and tried including Mom in their activities.

It turned out to be a six-month experiment which became progressively worse. By the time Mom was taken to a hospital in February, Mom was accusing Pat of spying on her, stealing her things, and hurting her. We knew from security cameras that none of it was true.

Mom ended up being in an assisted living facility after that. Pat’s feelings were hurt. He was upset, which upset Gina. Since that time, Gina has slowly cut off communications with Mom.

Labor used to be special for our family as we all prepared food and came together to celebrate. I wrote Mom on Labor Day. She was pretty sad and miserable, reporting that she’d not heard anything from any of her daughters. She knew a celebration was going on but nobody included her.

I passed that on to Gina. Gina replied, “If Mom apologizes to Pat for all those mean things she accused him of, I’ll welcome her back to our gatherings.”

I sent that on to Mom two days ago.

I’ve not heard anything back.

Trumpapalooza kicked off last night. As anticipated, it’s about how wonderful Trump thinks he is, the almost open acknowledgement that things aren’t going well in our nation, and Trump’s desperate attempt to win the election by bribing voters. In other words, it’s more Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL!, an attempt to distract voters from what’s really happening.

Beyond all that, the event is about stroking Trump’s ego. He thinks he’s great, and all others need to bow down to him. If everyone was as great as him, we’d have a great nation is his basic message.

Yes, Trumpapalooza was short on logic, facts, and truth, depending on your point of view. If you want the national and international order disrupted, Trump is doing a great job. If you want a nation based on democratic principles and freedom and equality for all, he’s driving hard away from those principles. Either way, he’s having fun, golfing on the taxpayers’ dime, sending out ridiculous little AI-generated images and videos trying to convey himself as great, blustering at other nations and people with threats if they don’t do what he wants.

Your Trumpapalooza Quote of the Day:

After all that, I ended up with “The Stroke” by Billy Squier in my morning mental music stream.

“The Stroke” came out in 1981. The song is about the music business and the need for bands to stroke music exec egos while the execs must stroke the artists’ egos. Everyone is stroke someone to keep it all going.

Sample Lyrics

Better listen now
They said it ain’t no joke
Don’t let your conscience fail ya
Just do the stroke

Don’t ya take no chances
Keep your eye on top
Do your fancy dances
You can’t stop, you just

Stroke me, stroke me
(Stroke, stroke)
Stroke me, stroke me
(Stroke, stroke)

And that’s pretty much Trump. He does his silly dance and his fancy ‘word weave’. The rest of us know the weave as lie upon lie upon lie, but for Trump, it’s the dance.

May this day reward you with patience, happiness, and good health.

Cheers

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