Tag: family

Tuesday’s Theme Music — Jail

Ashland, southern Oregon — Tuesday, July 14, 2026.

Gonna be hot today, probably 96. Reached 96 yesterday, too. Today’s sky offers blue, blue, blue, and blue wherever you look. It’s a comfortable 74 degrees F right now with a mild breeze gracing us.

It’s the birthday for one of my younger cousins today, but she passed away from cancer several years ago. I remember her with fondness for who she was, sadness for her reduced life and the disease she endured.

Trump announced another blockade of the Strait of Hormuz in conjunction with his war on Iran. Then Trump said that he was going to charge ships a 20% fee to go through, something well-established as illegal.

Then Trump TACOed and rescinded that announcement.

I suspect it was just another Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL! move. Keep us distracted from his many failures and setbacks, such as that other distraction, the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool fiasco, and that mess called the Epstein Ballroom, sartorially named after Trump’s good friend.

Your Trump Quote of the Day:

Judge Kathleen Williams blocked Trump’s sweeping IRS settlement. If you remember, Trump sued the IRS, demanding $10,000,000,000 in damages. The DOJ announced a settlement between the IRS and Treasury in which a victim fund of $1.47B was established to be paid out. It also said the IRS agreed never to audit Trump and his family and their businesses or tax returns.

Judge Williams found some problems with the settlement.

I read her 56-page ruling yesterday, skipping many of the footnotes and some of the legal precedents. Fun read, though.

The Federal judge said this is a case of Trump against Trump, with Trump controlling both sides. She cited Trump’s early Executive Orders when he took office for his second term, noting that he made it clear that he was in charge of the executive branch and all of its offices, personnel, and decisions. As the case pitted the Treasury against the IRS and both of them are part of the Executive Branch, and Trump controls both, it’s like arguing with yourself.

Judge Williams also went on to note the lack of evidence, documentation, and statements made by the defendants. All this pointed to a lack of adversity, so the two sides were not arguing about anything. There were also a few comments made about the lawyers, and things the lawyers said in testimony to Congress and public statements.

Along with all that, she found the fund they established as a ‘settlement’ made no sense, because it awarded money to be given to parties unrelated to the lawsuit, and it established no means for controlling it.

I like the way that Judge Williams put it after laying out her reasoning:

“The Parties used the existence of federal litigation as a means of conferring
legitimacy upon a course of action that they were unwilling to subject to judicial review.
The context of the “settlement,” the relationships of the people involved in negotiating and
approving it, the ethical implications of their conduct, and the Parties’ swift efforts to
dismiss this case after the Court raised fundamental jurisdictional questions all support
this conclusion.”

Other news found the Trump Administration unfreezing money meant for blue states. Trump had the $10B HHS funds for the five states frozen, claiming that they were perpetuating fraud. Standard for Trump, he offered little evidence for his claim and made sweeping allegations.

The affected states sued. A federal judge blocked the freeze and mandated that Trump administration needed to explain why they’d frozen the money and justify their action. Rather than share their thinking, the money was unfrozen.

Trump also finally paid the $5M plus interest Trump owed E. Jean Carroll. A court ruled three years ago that Trump owed her the money for sexually assaulting her in 1996 and defaming her.

After all that, I was thinking about Trump and jail. The Neurons noticed and slotted a Thin Lizzy song into the morning mental music stream, “Jailbreak”. *smile*

I hope this day gives you many reasons to smile and be happy.

Cheers

6

A Dad Leak Dream

There was a leak in the bathroom.

A thick tube of clear water spurted out of the wall. White tiles had been removed above the tub about five feet up. Oh, dear, what a mess, with some black fuzzy thing happening in the opening.

A trio of engineers, casually dressed, of different styles, heights, ages, one woman, two men, came in on behalf of the townhouse association. Because this wasn’t unique to this townhouse. It’d happened throughout the complex. This trio was going unit to unit to assess and strategize. I was just watching them from back by the door, listening as they ignored me. The spoke of how to fix it, what must be done.

Leaving, I headed across a common through sunshine to my own townhouse because, hey, that had been my father’s place, which slightly changed everything. He wasn’t there to look after it, so I was acting on his behalf.

I entered my own townhouse where the same problem existed but seemed to be on a much smaller scale. Some wall had been removed from the bathroom to the right which didn’t seem to have anything to do with the leak. I didn’t understand what that was about but I knew where to go for explanation.

I sought that women and this little rotund blonde explained something that kind of made sense and eased my anxieties. Going off again, I found I had a broken arm. No, not broken, just not working right. I’d been advised to keep it in a sling. I didn’t have a sling, so I fashioned one, and then modified it again and again, decided this was a good place to keep things, like my wallet, keys, and glasses.

So I tucked them in but then needed more material, so I added other things, and reshaped it, and reshaped it. People were going past as I did this and I turned away, trying to keep things private.

I decided to call my stepmother to tell her about Dad’s townhouse. Then I realized that Dad was dead and this was a dream. That I had actually a dream in a dream, and that the townhouse with the plumbing problem wasn’t real.

But I called my stepmother. I said, “I was thinking about Dad because it’s his birthday.” Then I realized, that’s not right. I said, “No, because it was my birthday.”

She was talking but it came to me, this call isn’t happening; it’s also a dream.

I awoke.

0

Tuesday’s Theme Music — Money for Nothing

Ashland, southern Oregon — Tuesday, July 7, 2026.

We’re expecting another warm one, low 90s, with dry air. It’s 73 now. Not getting very cool at night, and doesn’t stay cool long. But these are not bad conditions. Fingers crossed that thunderstorms don’t move in and start fires.

We received bad news yesterday. Feeling ill, my brother-in-law drove himself to the hospital. Bottom line, they admitted it because his enzymes were high and he seemed to be about to have a heart attack. He’s going through a catherization as we speak. I don’t know what was blocked or any percentages involved. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up with a stent or two. He’s a great guy, a few years younger than me, and deeply loves my sister. Hoping for the best for him.

Stories are circulating that Mitch McConnell is brain dead. His office is saying otherwise. His wife, Elaine Cho (edit – not Margaret, lol), went to China, which is totally and completely rational. Many people who rush out of the country when their partner is seriously ill.

Circumstantial evidence that McConnell isn’t doing well is rising. Social media accounts being deactivated. No one going in and out of their home. His office and staff aren’t returning calls.

The US is out of the World Cup. As I’m not a fan, I shrugged. Belgium eliminated the US and then mocked Trump in their victory by using his dance. Feels a bit like karma.

As part of the celebration of our freedom, democracy, and independence, a bunch of masked white supremacists marched around D.C. Nothing like old-fashioned racism and hatred to celebrate!

Realizing instantly that it’s bad optics, folks like Laura Ingraham immediately tried to pretend it was ‘Antifa’ faking everyone out. But at least one of the took their mask away and revealed the truth.

Sitting around a short time ago, I was on Bing and typed in, “How are food prices”. Bing responded with a list of facts about what’s going on with food prices in India.

I was like, India? Okay, I feel for them but why am I getting food prices for India? Wasn’t planning to shop there anytime soon. I asked Bing, “Why am I getting food prices for India?”

It responded with a laborious explanation about India exporting rice, and how that can affect prices. I replied, “But it didn’t tell me how prices are in the US.” It then told me how I can check prices in my area.

That just triggered my WTF meter to new levels. Being older than a teenager and a regular shopper, I already have a pretty good damn idea about how to find the prices in my area. I’m not impressed with Bing’s AI and search engine.

Today’s music is “Money for Nothing” by Dire Straits. The Neurons put it into the morning mental music stream as I was thinking about Trump. He’s made two billion dollars in his first year of his second term, basically by being there. And the nation picks up his golfing fees. So it’s all money for nothing and his golf for free for him.

In true Trump fashion, he made out but others riding his wave went under. His other businesses, Trump Phone and Trump shoes, are doing as well as Trump Steaks (2007), Trump University (2005-2010), and Trump Air (1989-1992). Even hawked by Lee Greenwood, Trump Bibles aren’t selling great, probably because of their impressive markup.

Trump Presidency (2025 to now) is making Trump much more money. That’s why he’s trying to game the mid-terms. Trump has never had a business that has done this well, making money for nothing.

As the song says, “That’s the way you do it. Let me tell you, them guys ain’t dumb. Maybe get a blister on your little finger. Maybe getting a blister on your thumb.”

Trump has perfected the art of getting money for nothing.

I hope you stay safe and healthy, wherever you are. Have the best day possible.

Cheers

0

Crime & Plumbing Dream

The dream found me at home – not my real-life place – with my wife. I awoke to discover that she had hired people to fix the plumbing. Thick, dark dust filled the air from the work. Three men were going all through the house, looking at the pipes and changing things.

I was floored that my wife had apparently decided to do that without consulting me. “First that I’ve heard about it,” I huffed before going off.

Coming back later, the men were in another part of the house. The three were all older, with short hair, white skin, and wore coveralls. Weirdly, usually they stayed clustering, staring at the pipes and talking about what they were going to do.

I came across my wife in another room. Wrench in hand, she was working herself on plumbing in a bathtub. I was like, “What the hell?”

I noticed that she was working on the faucet and spigots but she was on the side of the tub and had the floor torn up; but the tub still had its faucet and spigots attached on the end. I wondered, is she putting in new ones on the side to make it easier for her? Or putting in a new tub? I didn’t.

Going outside, I saw that she had people working in the garden and was building something new out there. That worried me. I knew that she had evidence of crimes committed buried there. (I was thinking that it was a murder but I didn’t seem sure.) I went back and told her that I didn’t think that was a smart decision but she was busy with the pipes and didn’t respond.

Returning outside, I saw a large rock being moved; I knew that was crucial evidence. With a sigh, I also saw that a police detective I’d seen earlier was watching and saw the rock. A little later, the police began digging up the area.

I thought, my wife is going to be going away, because her DNA is all over that. That disappointed and saddened me but I also thought, I should be okay because my DNA won’t be there.

Dream end

0

Saturday’s Theme Music – Looking back

Ashland, southern Oregon — Saturday, July 4, 2026.

Today is Independence Day in the US, another bright day in my valley, destined to be 90 plus degrees F.

Fireworks aren’t permitted in Ashland. They are allowed in our county, so there’s a storm going on about buying fireworks right outside of city limits. People then come in and set them off.

I’m one of those against fireworks. We’re in the middle of a drought, and they terrorize animals and some people. Each year, I bring my cats in and ensure they’re in a safe place. Papi heads to the darkest and most secure space, the walk-in closet in our bedroom.

I understand that people like the colors and noises. We have other tech that can be subbed for this ancient technology. I know, though, that change is slow around traditions like these.

For me, Independence Day has a very special meaning. I met my wife just a short week before the holiday. I was fifteen and she was fourteen. My father, then in the Air Force, was stationed at DESC, just outside of Wright-Patterson AFB in Ohio. I went to live with him after some run-ins with my stepfather.

Dad and my future father-in-law were good friends. Dad worked for him part time years before when stationed at Wright-Pat, trying to make extra money. When Dad returned after assignments in Vietnam, Germany, Iceland, and Turkey, they renewed their friendship.

I met my FIL, Jim, in May that year, 1971, on a fishing/camping trip. Then I met his wife and daughters in June. That was just a short drop by, though. It was on July 4th that my wife and I ‘really’ met.

Dad had given me an old watch after he bought a new one. I wore that all the time. Back when I met her and my wife and I were getting to know one another on July 4th, she asked me about my birthday. As it happens, it’s on July 5th.

My wife asked if she could see my watch. Then she refused to return it. She waited until after the fireworks. She waited until midnight. Then she presented my watch as a gift and told me, “Happy birthday.”

I lost the watch a long time ago, but I cherish her and the memory.

Today’s song is “Tiny Dancer” by Elton John. For the last twenty plus years while living in Ashland, we go to a friend’s house along the parade route to watch our town’s 4th of July parade. It’s a brunch potluck. Our host used to be our neighbor across the street here; when her husband passed away over a dozen years ago, she moved into a small cottage behind her daughter’s house. It’s our daughter’s house where we and about fifty other people congregate and celebrate.

Our host, though, is Barb, the neighbor from across the street, a sweet and charming but small 96-year-old woman. Her husband told me that he met his wife when she was a teenager. She was studying dance, already in college, and he was at college and walking, when he saw her alone on the bridge, dancing, late on afternoon. He didn’t know who she was but he knew he wanted to know her. Since hearing that story, I often call Barb “Tiny Dancer”. And that’s why the song is in the morning mental music stream.

I have you have a wonderful day, whether you’re celebrating the holiday in the US or elsewhere, or just enjoying life in another nation. I hope it gives you memories that make you smile, and comes with memories about what happened before, and full of people who help make your life a better place.

Cheers

1

Post-Op Update

TL/DR: My bladder cancer surgery went well yesterday. Two tumors were removed. I’m at home in recovery and awaiting biopsy results. We don’t know when they’ll be in.

The longer version…

I’m standing up to type. I have an 18 French Foley catheter in me. It’s inflated with saline solution.

Sitting is hugely uncomfortable. Taking a few drugs for that but whenever I sit, an enormous urgent need to pee wells up and doesn’t end, even as I see urine going down into my collection bag.

All went great yesterday. First, just as we were leaving the house, the surgery called and asked if we could hurry in. If we could, my surgery would be moved up by an hour. Yes! Let’s go.

I head to the Self Check-in Kiosk. A young volunteer rushes over to help me. She’ll type for me. Okay. I read faster than her, so I answer before she finishes asking. We zip through.

My wife and I laugh about this whole process. Weird to have a self-check in that isn’t a self-check in. We’re sent over to another area. This is where my wife gets her information about waiting for me. We go into the waiting area. We’re only there for three minutes before Sophia arrives to take us back.

She confirms my name and birth and gives me my wrist band, asking me to confirm it’s right. I strip down and answer Sophia’s questions. Bowel movements, eating, drinking, then she left. Another nurse came in, Sarah, and asked questions, verified information, checked my BP and pulse, and put inflation leggings on my calves. I wondered to them, when will we get Tricorders? She laughs.

Everyone always looks at my wrist band and ask me to say why I was at the hospital – *TURBT* — Transurethral Resection Bladder Tumor with Gemcitabine bladder instillation — name, and birthday. Did I do the Hibiclens shower the night before? Under Sarah’s guidance, I wash with more wipes, get into my gown and the bed. BP and pulse taken, IV port installed. Then…waited.

My anesthesiologist, huge, grinning guy, came in with his questions and explanations. It’s a three-minute drill.

My surgeon comes in. She looks like a little blue and raspberry Samurai warrior in her surgery garb.

Another nurse came in, Sarah. She was wheeling me to the operating room. During the ride, I mentioned that she was my second Sarah of the day. “Yes, it was a popular name during the eighties,” she says.

I reply, “Yes, Michael was popular when I was born.”

Sarah answers, “I was going to be Michael. They thought I was going to be a boy.”

“Were you named after a specific Sarah?”

“No, my brother picked my name. He said he would only play with me if I was named Sarah.”

We arrived at the surgery and introduced to more team. Slid myself from the bed to the operating table. Ugh. Much less comfortable. “There’s a hole in the table,” Chris says as I move. “Aim your rearend for that hole.”

Alrighty.

Monitors were attached. The anesthesiologist said, “I’m administering your anesthesia now. Deep breaths.”

Three deep breaths later, I was gone.

Awakening, I think, oh my God, I have to pee. I’m scrambling to get out of bed. Except there’s a bar in my way.

A nurse grabbed me on the other side. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Go back to sleep.” She pushed me back down. I remembered, oh, yeah. I’m at the hospital. Man, do I have to pee, though.

I’m in the recovery area. Looking around. “How long am I going to be here?” I ask the nurse. She glances at the clock on my monitor. “Another twenty minutes.” I checked the time so I can track it myself.

Other recoverees are wheeled in. We’re half-surrounded by curtains and equipment but I can see three. I can’t see Grace, but Grace doesn’t hear well, so I hear everything that they’re telling Grace.

I’m in space 18. The guy in 19 is awake. I wave at him. He seems to be looking at me. I wave again. He waves back. I smile, give a thumbs up. He does the same, then lays back and closes his eyes. They wheel him back out ten minutes later.

A new woman is wheeled into 17. Her bare shoulders and upper chest are exposed. I wonder what’s going on with her. A nurse or tech wheels in an x-ray machine and tells her that she needs to get some shots. I expect the curtains to be pulled. They’re not. I look away, trying to give 17 some privacy. She’s wheeled out a little later.

I check the time. Still ten minutes left. Man, recovery time is going so slowly. Classic first-world complaint.

Sarah the second returns to wheel me back to my room. “How long have you been doing this, Sarah?” I ask.

“Three years.”

I nod. She’s a vet.

She maneuvers me back into my original little room SUU 3. Paula, another nurse, comes in to begin my post-op care instructions. She asks if I have anyone with me. “Yes, my wife.” Paula goes out and has someone go find my wife in the waiting area.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m dressing. Absorbing instructions. My penis is attached to my groin’s right side via a tube stuck on my thigh so the tube and collecting bag can go on my right, because that’s how I get out of bed, on the right side. It’s a bummer because I hang to the left. Sorry if that’s TMI.

I’m given mesh underwear to put on. A pad is thrust in there to absorb bleeding, and there is bleeding. Then I dress.

Paula explains how to use the catheter. I’m familiar with it. The one difference this time is that I was given chemo. Gemcitabine was instilled. It’ll take 48 hours to flush. I’m instructed to flush twice after emptying the bag, and to be very careful because of the gemcitabine.

Four medicines have been prescribed for pain, the urge to pee, and stool softeners.

I later read two tumors removed. Largest was a posterior papillary bladder tumor measuring 2cm x 3cm.

We’re back home by 4 PM. I have a light lunch, then read and nap for several hours.

It often burned when I urinated last night and this morning. That’s faded a lot, thank dog.

Per Paula’s instructions, I showered last night. My penis tip was caked with drying blood, and pubic hairs were trapped in it. Once that was washed off, a lot of discomfort went away.

I’m due to remove the Foley catheter on Monday. Get in the shower, cut a valve off, let the saline drain, jerk the catheter out.

It’s good to have something to look forward to.

9

Another Wandering Thought

My sister showed a photo of my nieces and nephews from fourteen years ago.

Some voice in me said, “Wow, that was fourteen years ago.”

Another voice of mine said, “Wow, that was just fourteen years ago.”

A third voice of mind said, “That was fourteen years ago?”

A fourth voice observed, “Look how they’ve grown and changed in fourteen years.”

If it takes a village, I might be okay. I got one thriving in my head.

3

Wednesday’s Theme Music – Illusions

Ashland, southern Oregon — Wednesday, June 24, 2026.

Sunny and summery, blue skies, high of 91 today.

Mom’s doctor asked my sister to bring Mom in today. They’re heading there as I type. This was in response to Mom asking sis to call the doctor for her, because Mom said she was too busy to call for herself. My sister called last night and they want to see Mom today.

We’re into the Grand Illusion part of Trump’s second term. Increasingly disconnected from reality and voters, he keeps insisting, we won the war and everything is great!

Despite his claims, Trump’s popularity continues its freefall. This is especially true in economic matters, where a stubborn 26% still thinks he’s great for the economy. 73% say the economy is worsening under Trump.

Headlines were full of a historic bi-partisan housing bill Congress passed. That was an hour ago.

Now, headlines have shot up that Trump won’t sign the affordable bill unless Congress pass the SAVE Act.

I hope that doesn’t happen. The SAVE BS has been floating around for a while, an artificial attempt to solve a fake problem: voter fraud. In reality, it makes it more difficult for people to vote, especially if they’re facing financial hardships. Trump and the GOP believes that will give them an advantage.

Your Trump Quote of the Day:

Trump, all the way: insulting someone while spreading lies.

Trump wants the SAVE Act to pass because Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL! keeps floundering, what with Algaegate and the Lincoln Reflecting Pool debacle; the backlash to ICE; and the mess and exposed lies of the Epstein ballroom.

All this — ballroom, war, reflecting pool — is to keep Trump’s name in the Epstein files hidden from the American public. Despite a law that says that all of the Epstein files will be released, with certain protections.

Despite Trump’s promises to release the Epstein files. Trump then pivoted and insisted that they were a hoax.

All this is part of Trump’s Grand Illusion. That’s he’s a genius and very healthy, the healthiest ever. That the economy is going well. That he’s for peace and would never condone violence.

The record on all of this speaks for itself.

Today’s song is “Perfect Illusion” by Lady Gaga. Not a surprise. I was thinking about control and the toll the pressure is taking on Trump. Those are almost the exact words which open the song.

0

Tuesday’s Theme Music – Helpless

Ashland, southern Oregon — Tuesday, June 23, 2026.

Hot, mid 90s today, copy of yesterday for our valley.

We cope without using the A/C. I like them in cars and businesses, don’t like using them at home. At night, I cool-drench the house and that usually carries us through the day.

Smoke was in the air last night when I popped the door open. Not strong but I definitely smelled it. NextDoor had the answer: a controlled burn in the town next door. They have orchards. Blight had struck. To contain the blight and stop its spread, they cut off the affected limbs and burned them.

People were worried, though. We’re in a red flag situation. Sure, it was a controlled burn, but controlled burns can get out of hand.

Shows the complexity of the entire matter — drought, fire, trees, economy — on one succinct scenario.

At about 6, my wife went into the garage for something and returned. “I want to leave a door open and let hot air. Warm the house. It’s so cold in here.”

It was 92 outside. In the house at that point, it was 79.

She’s been having greater issues with staying warm. More issues with moving. Strength challenges. So freaking depressing to witness. Stoically bearing it, she complains little. Rocks to stand. Grunts with effort. Hangs on to balance herself.

We went to the growers market this morning. Bought baked goods for a friend and took them to him. He has Parkinsons and cancer. His wife is away on a trip with her sister to Alaska. The woman needed it.

Our friend is doing well. The housekeeper was in, finishing. Said she’d be back at 5. Meanwhile, friends are delivering pizza for his lunch at 2 PM.

It takes a community to cope with these things.

I had a pre-op telephone appointment for my bladder cancer on Thursday. Usual stuff about times, bathing with Hibiclens, drinking fluids, eating, where we’re going, where to park, how long it’ll take.

My wife asked, “What about afterward? What’d they say about that?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. This was pre-ops.”

“They’re all so compartmentalized,” she snapped.

I can’t argue that. It’s very true.

My wife and I chatted about the news. She had just read about Trump’s claim that the economy is the ‘opposite of a recession’.

Your Trump Quote of the Day:

This seems like another part of Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL!, an attempt to distract us from what’s really going on.

Anyone living outside of a millionaire’s bubble will probably take issue with Trump’s claims. People are dealing with rising costs associated with energy, housing, food, consumer goods, and healthcare. Trump seems to believe that making these claims will make them true or enough people will simply go along with him on his magic thinking ride.

For the record, for example, oil prices aren’t even down to the levels they were when Trump took office.

Brent crude oil – Price – Chart – Historical Data – News

Beyond Trump’s fractured economic reality, people are awakening to the MOU that ended Trump’s Iran blunder that cost lives and money. They’re basically responding, WTF?

Besides the ongoing saga of the Epstein ballroom construction, we’re also dealing with Algaegate. Trump is straining to point the finger at someone else for the clear disaster that it’s become. It’s such ugly optics, but it perfectly summarizes Trump’s flawed grip on truth, facts, and history.

Today’s music is “Helpless” by Neil Young. Reading the news on some days just engenders that frustration and helplessness, a sense of ‘go do something.’ Protest, scream, call people, write things. Some mornings, I’m a stick stuck in the mud. But I drink my coffee, write out some of my anger. Suck in some air. Count my advantages. Move on for a short while, at least.

“Helpless” is performed by Neil and The Band. Hope you find it worthwhile to hear and watch.

Hope you’re feeling good, doing well, and looking forward to better days.

Cheers

5

Mondah’s Theme Music – Caged

Ashland, southern Oregon — Monday, June 22, 2026.

It’s a Mon-dah. Kind of eh at this point.

We’re cruising through the seventies in our valley. Degrees, I mean, not years; the 1970s would be way too modern for Trump and the MAGAts. On our way to the region of 95 F today. Blue sky. No clouds. Browning greens.

In an aside, Trump and his MAGAts is a good name for a failed punk rock band. They dreamed big but their guitars had no strings. The drummer had no bass. All anyone heard was Trump the vocalist, shouting words.

Mom and Gina are skirmishing back home again. It remains about ‘Mom’s pills’. This is actually a good sign, as Mom is again in a fighting mood and is in the moment. Gina is displaying remarkable calm and patience with Mom. Mom said, “That’s funny that you think these people are better at giving us our meds and they don’t know an aspirin from a Tylenol.”

Gina replied, “Well everything is labeled for them and they know what day it is and they document everything.”

2026 drones on with Trump in weak command of a flopping economy and low popularity. Revealing again that he’s absolutely out of reach with reality, Trump tried to pump up his ego by claiming how great everything is going. All but the MAGAts know Trump lies.

Trump touts “best economy ever.” What the data shows

Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL! continues to decline into Operation Epic Dead Squirrel. Trump is thumping war drums over Iran again, pitching the same spiel that he used months ago — “They’d better, or else!” — as he blusters about Iran.

The Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool continues as a fabled metaphor for Trump’s miscalculations and flophouse execution. He’s proven again, everything that he touches withers, except for his grifts. They flourish, especially with the GOP covering him, and control of the Department of Justice. Like a caveman, he uses the Department of Justice as a club to try to beat others down.

He launched another of his endlessly screeching Truth Social texts about the New York Times last night. They published an article about the useless and unneeded Iran war Trump ended, and the way he fizzled through negotiations like wet black powder.

Trump used the same strong language he always invokes when aggrieved:

“The way the Corrupt and Failing New York Times is covering stories on a very battered and beat up Iran, through FAKE & MADE UP ‘FACTS’ is, in my opinion, ‘TREASONOUS. I will be adding all of their false and ridiculous reporting to my multi Billion Dollar lawsuit against them. They are Criminals!”

In classic Trump writing, he projects himself: corrupt; failing; treasonous; ridiculous.

I have “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers playing in the morning mental music stream. Came about from looking at photos of the area around the White House. Employing my Trump writing style, I’ll elaborate:

“The WH lawn looks TERRIBLE! So NASTY! It is the worse it has looked in its Entire History! HORRIBLE!!! DISGRACEFUL!!! tRump and the Awful Repuglicants should be in prison for WHAT THEY’VE DONE!!! It’s A Crime for what they’ve done to the home of We The People!!!”

The song arose because its first line mentions ‘coming out of my cage’. As I’d been looking at the UFC ‘cage’, the Neurons — never very awake — thought that I was singing to myself about a cage, and well…here we are.

Hope your Mon-dah is better and progresses with peace, joy, and good health.

Cheers

1

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑