Category: humor

Frida’s Wandering Political Thoughts

A Democratic Party insider told me who the party supports as candidate for the 2028 nominee for POTUS.

“John F. Kennedy.”

I raised a salient objection. “He’s dead. Worse, he’s been buried.”

“True, true, true.”

“You’re not talking about a clone.”

“Of course not. That’d be silly. No, we’re thinking, AI.”

“Articial Intelligence?”

“What else? Listen, if corporations are people, why can’t AI be people?”

“I need to think about that,” I answered.

“Okay, let me tell you more. See if I can convince you. What we did is create an AI that’s modeled on President John F. Kennedy’s thinking. We fed all the interviews which we could find, all his papers, speeches, books, diaries, and journals, along with biographies about him, into a quantum computer. It then developed the ability to replicate JFK’s thinking and speaking, giving us a virtual entity who is just like him. It’s uncanny. Wait until you see it.”

I was shaking my head in skepticism. “It’ll never work.”

“We think it will. He polls very well.”

“I don’t think people are ready for AI to be elected to any office.”

“No, no, turns out that almost 80 percent of likely voters who were polled said they could support AI for president. A majority of voters think that AI is more principled and intelligent than many politicians holding office or running for nomination. In fact, more people are willing to vote for AI than a woman.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, but what about his assassination over sixty years ago? Surely, that’s a drawback.”

“No, no, no. Many people have always believed that JFK wasn’t really killed, that all of that was just a fiction to get him out of office.”

“Even if they believe that, it’s six decades later. He’d be over a hundred years old. Do you really think that people will support a candidate who is over hundred years old after what we endured with Joe Biden?”

My source grinned. “We told them that JFK was cryogenically stored. He’s only fifty years old.”

“They believe that?”

“You’d be surprised what they believe. Just to seal the deal, Elvis Presley is endorsing JFK.”

“Presley?” I laughed. “He’s been dead since — “

“No, no, he wasn’t dead. He was in storage, too. Trust me. We’ve done the research. The numbers support this idea.

“Presley and Kennedy are still alive. Along with Walt Disney and Jackie O. All are alive. They’ve all just been frozen. The time has come for the truth to be told.”

My source leaned forward. “The people are ready for Camelot’s return. JFK will kick Trump’s ass. Remember, you heard it here first.”

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Frida’s Wandering Thoughts

“What did you do?” my wife asked.

Sixteen million slapdash responses plied my mental waters. I decided that caution should be employed. “About what?”

“Your face.”

I felt like I’d walk in on a conversation already in progress. We were the only people present. My wife definitely meant me.

“What do you mean?” I checked a nearby mirror. “I look gorgeous.”

“Your mustache looks wrong.”

“How?” My mustache looked perfect. Well, as close to perfect as I can get it. Let’s not dive too deeply into those waters.

“One side is different than the other.”

“How?”

“It’s just different. They’re not the same. Look in the mirror.”

“I did. It looks fine.”

My really good mood soured, I went to the coffee shop.

A good friend was the barista on duty. I asked her, “How does my face look?”

Eyebrows quirking up into questioning arcs, she looked at me. Shrugged. “Same as always. Why?”

I told her what my wife claimed. She studied me. “I don’t see that. You’re very well groomed. You always are.”

“Thank you.”

Arriving home later, I carefully watched my wife. I was worried. She’d obviously been replaced by a robot, cyborg, or alien. Robot with AI made the most sense. A lot of AI is not all it’s cracked up to be.

What I will need to do is observe her and develop a series of test questions to verify my wife’s identity. I mean, trust but verify, right?

Especially in this messed up Age of Trump.

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Frida’s Theme Music

Clouds have moved into Ashlandia. As neighbors go, they tend to being quiet but flighty. They’re also large but I don’t want to body shame anyone.

With the clouds, we get warmer nights but colder days. Last night only slipped down to 51 F. Today’s high will be 61 F. Will it rain? Let me consult with my digitized Magic 8 Ball. Magic 8 says “It is decidely so.”

Today, BTW, is marked as Friday, April 25, 2025. One third of 2025 is about to end. Despite all of PINO Trump’s promises, preening, and bullying, the Russia-Ukraine goes on. The government is in miserable shape and not saving any money. People are losing 401K money because the stock market and bond market are waaayyy worse than under the previous POTUS. Tourism is down. Talk and worries about empty shelves, increasing unemployment, recession and even economic depression is increasing. Pundits already call it the Trumpcession.

PINO Trump responds to it all with glee. “Look how much money my billionaire friends made.” He alternates that with, “What, me — worry?”

I have The Outsiders performing in the morning mental music stream. The song is “Time Won’t Let Me”. Released in 1965, it grew into a hit and radio staple. That led to its purchase as a 45 RPM offering. The record became part of the basement playlist in our neighborhood. We usually did that over at Tracy and Carolyn’s house, as they had a finished basement.

The Smithereens did a cover for the 1994 movie Timecop, starring Jean-Claude Van Damme. I admit, I prefer the original song.

Coffee has come to my aid again, fortifying my psyche for reading the news. Hope you’re all well out there in streaming land, cuz here we go. Cheers

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Thirstda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

Spinal Tap should be proud.

Preppers are in a tizzy.

Several CEOs met with O2. That’s the One Orange. Frequently living in Florida, he allows time off from his busy golf schedule to sign executive orders. Many of those EOs are about tariffs. That’s what has the preppers wringing their hands. The CEOs run big box stores. They’re retailers. They were warning Trump that the tariffs would soon cause empty shelves, falling sales, and failing consumer confidence so Trump needed to back off tariffs. Which, despite declaring that he never would, Trump did. Because the CEOs are wealthy O2 backers. If not for them, and other millionaires and billionaires, Trump may not have made it back into the White House to bless the world with chaos. Now, this chaos was completely predictable. Trump said he was going to tariff every jot and tittle entering the United States. So it is tres amusing that these big box stores are worried.

The preppers were worried because, doom buying. They wanted to know what is not going to be on the shelves.

The preppers should talk to the truckers and the west coast ports. Because Trump isn’t worried about it.

Stuff enters the U.S. through those ports. Port authorities, freight companies, and dock workers say the ports are gonna be ghost haunts. Nothing is expected in. As critically, little is getting shipped out from the United States. Thanks to sharp price increases caused by the tariffs, orders for U.S. goods are being cancelled. These cancelled orders and empty ships are causing a productivity slow down. People are being laid off or terminated.

Gee, that worked out swell, didn’t it, MAGA?

Sanity was the first casualty of Trump’s personal economic war.

Stability was the second.

Third are workers, soybean farmers, and truckers. All are facing layoffs, or increased costs and decreased profits, or business shutdowns. Trump did the same thing in his first term. Enjoying that experience so much, he’s turned the craziness up to eleven.

Yes, that is a Spinal Tap reference. Spinal Tap used Trump logic to explain why their music is louder.

The phrase was coined in a scene from the 1984 rock mockumentary This Is Spinal Tap by the character Nigel Tufnel, played by Christopher Guest. In this scene, Nigel gives the rockumentary’s director, Marty DiBergi, played by Rob Reiner, a tour of his stage equipment. While Nigel is showing Marty his Marshall guitar amplifiers, he points out a selection whose control knobs all have a highest setting of eleven, unlike standard amplifiers whose volume settings are typically numbered from 0 to 10. Believing that this numbering increases the highest volume of the amp, he explains, “It’s one louder, isn’t it?” When Marty asks why not simply make the 10 setting louder, Nigel hesitates before responding: “These go to eleven.”

h/t to Wikipedia.org

Fortunately for truck drivers, the UAW, soybean farmers, Boeing, and big business in general, they supported Trump’s re-election campaign. He told them he would raise tariffs. They supported him and his positions and voted him into office. They now have what they wanted.

Right?

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Infloofminate

Infloofminate (floofinition) An animal who does not have a name. Origins: Circa 1999, Internet.

In Use: “They variously called the infloofminate stray visitor, the orange boi, kibbles (for his love of food), the visitor, and window cat (for his habit of appearing at a window and staring in, especially when it was cold and wet) before they officially adopted him and dubbed him Cheddar.”

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Wenzda’s Wandering Thoughts

“Priscilla wants Peeps. She’s providing them.”

My wife informed me of these things as we shopped for Easter Brunch ‘garnish’ last week. Chocolates, jellybeans, Jordan almonds, gummi Easter treats. Quite a cornucopia of sugar.

I was glad we weren’t buying Peeps. I dislike the marshmallow concoctions. Recent flavors like Dr. Pepper doesn’t sell them to me. My sister loves them. Especially stale Peeps. Gads.

I joke about Peeps flavors with friends. None of them like them, either.

“What if they were beer flavored?” I asked.

My friends seem horrified and mystified. “How will that work?” one asks. “Will they be sweet?”

“Yes, marshmallow beer,” I answer.

Eye rolling and groans meet this answer.

Priscilla provided a bowl of neatly organized Peeps. She’s always organized. Just her way.

I was staring at the bowl. She joined me. “I don’t see any of the new-flavored Peeps,” I said.

“No.” Priscilla frowned. “I only buy traditional Peeps.”

Hours later, clean up began at the Brunch. It looked like the bowl of Peeps had lost one. I had not seen anyone eating any.

“Want to take some Peeps home?” Priscilla asked.

“No, thanks,” my wife and I sang together.

Priscilla nodded. “We’ll probably just throw them out.”

But I wondered: will she really eat them in secret later?

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Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

The cat is sitting across the room by the open back door. His name is Papi. He’s either orange or a ginger. I’ve never given it much thought.

Smiling, I cross to pet him. He shouts out a plaintive and loud three-syllable meow.

I stop and looked at him. “That was annoying.”

His eyes shift. He’s making a mental note.

That confirms for me, that meow was part of Project Irritation.

I’m still putting Project Irritation together. I believe its overall scope is for the cat to try things and then document how I react. He can then put his findings to use to control my behavior.

I offer this with all seriousness. It’s the only idea that can explain the many meows he’s been employing in the last week.

Besides the Meow Phase of Project Irritation, I believe he’s also testing the limits of how often I will let him in and out of the house. He’s also conducting experiments on me by using differing reactions to his food. No doubt, he’s attempting to steer his food choices by indoctrinating me based on how he reacts to his food. He’s long sussed out that I’m his feeder and care giver.

Now he just needs to study me and take control.

It’s probably part of a more extensive cat project: “How to dominate the world”.

They already have the Internet close to completely in their paws. It’s only a matter of meows before they control the rest.

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Sunda Insights

Losing My Mind, But I’ve Got Memes!!!

From Jill Dennison, memes, we got your memes here. Everything from the notoriously dangerous gang known as DT47 to the Archbishop of Cadbury is skewered. Facts are also tastefully served up.Time to think and chuckle. Cheers

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Flooficulture

Flooficulture (floofinition) – The science, art, or practice of cultivating an environment or attitude to make and keep animals, especially pets, healthy, happy, and satisfied. Origins: 15th century, Middle Floofish, from Middle Floonch, from Flooftin flooficultura, from floof animal + cultura cultivation. 

In Use: “Many animals find that new owners are not well versed in making pets happy, and must educate their people in flooficulture.”

In Use: “Going all in with her new pets, Simon and Theodore, Karla surfed the net for flooficulture tips and insights, and quickly spent a fortune on toys, gadgets, treats, beds, and foods.”

In Use: “Entering through a window, the savvy ginger boi took in the setup and realized that these people knew their flooficulture and would make excellent new ‘owners’ for hisself.”

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