Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Proflooftiate (floofinition) – To gain or regain an animal’s favor or goodwill. Origins: Benjamin Franklin, Poor Richard’s Almanack, 1752.
In Use: “There was a reason for Spitfire’s name. Once she was upset, Shirley could only proflooftiate using Spitfire’s favorite treats until Spitfire relented.”
This just in:
“We’re seeing as a result that ports here in the U.S., the traffic has really slowed and now thousands of dockworkers and truck drivers are worried about their jobs,” a reporter said in the press briefing.
“That means we lose less money,” Trump said. “When you say it slowed down, that’s a good thing, not a bad thing.”
I agree with PINO Trump.
I have found that having my bank account, refrigerator, freezer, and pantry all almost empty is a good thing. Without money, I can’t buy replacement stuff for my pantry, refrigerator, and freezer. Things like food, and “eggs”, as PINO Trump likes to write it.
Having less food is so much healthier. Thanks to less food, I’m losing weight. With less food, I have less energy, so I’m sleeping more. That keeps me more sated with doing nothing, so I’m not out there, spending money, contributing to the local economy, accumulating stuff which I’d just need to get rid of. Thanks to having less money, I’m using my car less, buying less gas. With others like me also buying less gas and things, we keep prices down. Since we’re buying less, businesses are able to fire employees. That means those former employees are also buying less, staying home more often, and sleeping more. Win, win, win!
We’re also helping to save the environment. We don’t have the cash or means to go places. That keeps the air, land, and water, free from our cars’ pollutants. Since we don’t have money or energy, we also go on vacation less, further keeping the air clean of pollutants from aircraft. It all makes sense, in an Alice-in-Wonderland way that I’ve never realized before.
What a stable genius PINO Trump is. I so admire his brilliant logic.
This snark was brought to you by coffee. Coffee: it’s what’s for breakfast, and writing.
Trump Regime Logic
“The canary in our mine has died,” the foreman reported.
“We’re not going to replace him,” the mine owner replied. “That bird was fraud, waste, and abuse. Never did anything but sit there in a cage. Useless. We’ll save hundreds of pennies by cutting that position.”
The next day, the foreman reported, “Three miners have died.”
“Good!” the mine owner enthused. “Look how much we’re saving on personnel costs. Keep up the good work.”
“All of the third shift are dead,” the foreman reported the next day. “There’s no mining going on today.”
The mine owner clapped his hand and cackled in glee. “That’s great news.”
The foreman stared at him. “How do you figure? Nothing’s being mined. Production is down.”
“Exactly,” the owner replied. “That’ll reduce supplies. With lower supplies, we can charge much more money per ton. In fact, go ahead and lay off everyone else. We’ll shut the mine down and save a fortune in overhead while we sign new deals.”
“Are you sure?” the foreman asked.
“Yes. We’ll be making so much money, you won’t believe it.” The owner’s orange face glowed with excitement. “Trust me, I’m a very stable genius. I know what I’m doing.”
Our cat sitter surprised us with her report on Papi.
Papi is our male orange cat. When I describe him, I use words like sweet but cautious. Wary.
The cat sitter said, “He’s such a sweet boy.”
Yep. We agree.
“He was always there waiting for me or showed up as soon as I called him,” the cat sitter said.
What? Papi shows up for me but often ignores my wife. We always thought Papi was distrustful of women.
“And he always wanted me to pet him and talk to me and purr, the sitter said.
Papi’s behavior was completely contrary to my wife’s experiences with him. Even though she bribes him with treats.
I noticed the cat sitter used a different sound when dealing with Papi. We use a kissing sound. She employed, “Psp, psp, psp.”
So I tried that on Papi.
The change was electric. He whirled around and hurried to me, tail up.
My wife’s eyes widened. She issued, “Psp, psp, psp.”
Papi turned and looked at her. “He usually ignores me,” my wife said.
We talked it over and agreed, that must have been the sound people used around him when he was young. Who knows, of course. We do know that the result is amazing. He’s a much friendlier and relaxed floof with sound employed.
Details matter. As always, the problem is in figuring them out.
Been here once or twice.
An email arrived. Tricare4U received and processed a recent claim.
Uh oh.
I expect to have a bout of acute passworditis soon.
Many Americans suffer from passworditis. The condition is brought on by websites not accepting passwords despite meeting all their stated requirements. Symptoms may include deep depression, a desire to drink heavily, incoherent screaming and swearing, high blood pressure, and a feeling of deep exhaustion accompanied by a temptation to go to bed and pull the covers over your head.
I also sometimes expire these symptoms of passworditis while using WordPress, but that’s about ‘features’ which act in capricious ways.
Tricare4U is part of the Defense Department’s healthcare labyrinth. I’ve been using Tricare variations since 1995, when I retired from the Air Force. Dealing with any Tricare issue is rarely fun and never easy. Logging on is usually the worse part. This is done through DS Log On.
As my friend Jill would say, GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
The passwords expire every 60 days. Installing a new one is a pain from hell. They have nine requirements. All are reasonable requirements. My new password meets all nine requirements. I know that because all nine requirements begin in red. As you fulfill one, it turns green. .
I must fill it into the new password box. Everything is green.
Then I add it again to confirm the password. These again show colors when it all works.
Despite everything showing as green, i.e., good to go, the submit button to complete the password change won’t come up. I stall out at that point every friggin’ time.
I used three different browsers.
Closed all windows and rebooted my computer.
Cleared my cache.
I have made twelve attempts in sixty-five minutes. I remain mired in password hell.
GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
I’m shutting it down for now. More coffee is required before I try again. All this to see what they say about my claim. Will I owe? What obtuse reasoning will they use?
Sigh. Not a fun beginning to my Twosda. It’s not good for my health. Ironic?
Don’t ask me.
Floofpidity (floofinition) – 1. The quality of making unintelligent decisions or acts regarding animals. Origins: Worldwideweb, 1999.
In Use: “Realizing he’d forgotten his drink, Brett set his plate of sandwiches down on the coffee table in an act of supreme floofpidity, and rushed back to the kitchen, creating an opportunity for the Puppy to gobble up Brett’s lunch.”
2. A dumb idea or decision by an animal.
In Use: “Demonstrating grade A floofpidity, a dog attacked a child, only to be counter attacked and chased off by Tara the cat.”
It’s as I feared: future NAZIs developed time travel.
There is evidence:
Yes, they found a sword with a swastika. This isn’t the first time a swastika was found in the past. The cover story is that the swastika meant ‘good fortune’ before Hitler adopted it as his murderous regime’s emblem. I think NAZIs going back in time spread a tale that the swastika meant ‘good fortune’ to trick others into using it. Then the NAZIs held secret meetings to spread their hatred, prejudices, sexism, and racism. In fact, going out on a limb, I’ll wager that in some distant far, far, far, far future, we’ll learn that Adolf Hitler and Trump are related. Further, they’re both related to Darth Vader.
But Darth Vader isn’t real, cynics will protest. That’s because that’s what they want you to believe. Vader is real. He just resides in a galaxy far, far, far, far away.
As does Hitler, awaiting his time to return. If you recall, his body was burnd and buried. It was never seen by anyone but Hitler’s staff.
Remember, you read it here first.
May 4, 2025, broke as a Sunda. Rain falling off in the night, blue sky and clouds mix it up in a friendly competition. Sunshine comes and goes with the clouds’ permission. The weather ‘they’ is hyping a high of 65 F, part of a warming trend for the week.
Dreams delivered today’s song. The dreams didn’t include the song. Disturbing as a loud animal roar in a coal-black night, the dreams had me scribbling details for well over an hour. Part of that was the phrase, “I’ve been thinking.” More usually followed. Now, though, The Neurons picked up the phrase, found where it belonged in a song, and rolled it for me. The result in the morning mental music stream was 1990’s song by Londonbeat, “I’ve Been Thinking About You”.
I’ve also been thinking about Mom. Her house is a mess without electricity. Day 5. She was convinced yesterday to go to my sister’s house and stay the night. Mom’s live-in boyfriend stayed at his daughter’s house. Taking care of her has been increasingly difficult for him. Her drugs and illnesses dull her mind and make her moody. She snaps at him. That’s worn thin. With her mobility lessening, he’s forced to carry her. She’s lost weight and doesn’t weigh more than a few birds these days. Still, weight is weight. Repetitive bending, lifting, and twisting is wearing out his 95-year-old body. Both have refused to leave her house and move into assisted living. But with her energy diminishing, his strength dropping, her senses dulling, and his eyesight and hearing worsening, will this be the straw that changes their mind?
We don’t know. More than anything, they’re independent and stubborn. I see so much of her in myself in these matters. Intellectually, I understand. Emotionally, it’s a far more complicated path.
My coffee is half gone. The cat has completed a few laps around the inside of the house. Now he’s gone to find sunshine. I want to do the same but I’ve planned a full agenda for myself. Who knows if I’ll stay with it.
I hope the best for you and your day, and us and our days. Deep breath; here we go. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 