Fool Me Twice

Temperatures in the eastern third of the nation recently soared in the vicinity of 100⁰ for several consecutive days.  Meteorologists gleefully inflated those numbers to 114⁰+ for dramatic effect of something called the "heat index."

In any case, it’s been hot here.  Mosquitoes would buzz about your head when sudden spontaneous combustion of them resulted in tiny puffs of smoke, evoking a smattering of applause from potential victims.

Much of my three days of oppressive heat should have been spent standing in the yard wearing chest waders, with an ice chopper.  I’ve been waiting to break up arctic glaciers that are said to be melting and heading our way.  Finally, I’ll own waterfront property.

In the event you missed it, much of the sky-is-falling ersatz-scientists have been dashing around the planet, weeping to anyone who would listen to them, talk about the dire mess called “climate change.”

Climate change used to be “global warming” until the Earth began to cool.  Climate change seemed a pretty convenient term to explain, to stupid people like myself, the dire situation in which are now living.

And "living" is a tenuous word because some of the gold standard of America’s politicians have deduced the population only has 12-years of life remaining.

While this may seem frightening to some, I take this as a sign from above.  Allow me to explain.

I’ve always been a car guy – a guy who loves and can appreciate a beautiful automobile.  However, I’ve been a poor car guy who can merely look, but not touch.

Never being able to afford something with that “Wow Factor,” I’ve been forced to rue my unstellar financial decisions.  Until now, that is.

Now, with good news concerning the population’s imminent demise in a dozen years, I am now able to purchase that Lamborghini or Ferrari, or both!

You see, it doesn’t really matter how much the payments are, the finance companies won’t be able to collect because they will be too busy with climate change and learning to swim.

Although pretty nebulous about the dire effects of climate change, former Vice President Albert Gore has made a career out of frightening most of the world about looming disasters, and even produced an award-winning movie that promoted his environmental bologna.

An entire generation of weak-minded youths learned all about how to defeat the climate change disaster.  And costly legislation has been passed on the urging of renown environmental scientists such as Bill Nye, Emma Thompson, Brad Pitt, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Redford, Gisele Bundchen, and Leonardo DiCaprio, all of whom have added their two-cents on how to handle this crisis.

Thank goodness for such intelligent people who actually pretend for a living to take time to explain to us ignorants who don’t know better.

Of course, it was Al Gore who spun all this up with his climate initiative of stopping climate change with the imposition of taxes/fines for producing carbon.  He called this initiative “carbon credits.”

Al Gore's next door neighbor

It seems as though he could form a company that collected money to pay for excess carbon.  That money would somehow stop climate change.  No one is quite sure how, though.

Perhaps he is going to take fifty-dollar bills, load them into confetti cannons, then shoot them into space to change the climate.

He could also use hundred-dollar bills, too, thereby requiring only half as many.

But Mr. Gore insists the oceans are now rising to record levels causing seaside towns to flood, and the weather is getting hotter resulting in more, and more violent, hurricanes.

With such clearly impending disasters, one would think Mr. Gore would find a personal residence in Iowa or Nebraska, just to be certain his polo field won’t be submerged.  Rather, he bought an ocean view home in California.  And, former President Barack Hussein Obama, bought a shore home in Martha’s Vineyard.

Aren’t these a bit too close to the water’s edge for glacier flooding?  According to them and newly elected  Congressbabe Alexandria Ocazio-Cortez, yes.

But then there’s that old saying:  “Screw you.  I’ve got mine.”

Missing Beach Geniuses

My Dad and Mom worked hard throughout their lives.  They provided well for me and my sister, something for which I am still grateful.

Being a factory worker, Dad – and all his co-workers – received two-weeks off as vacation.  For a few weeks during the summer, his employer needed to clean their blast furnaces, and that wound up being vacation time.

Off to the ocean for a week at the water was our regular holiday, with beaches of Cape Cod, Massachusetts, being among our favorite.  I just made that sound as though I had a say in the decision; I did not, but I wasn’t paying the bills, either.  I was only five at the time.

In any case, we packed suitcases full of clothes, boxes of food, and enough toys to keep us clothed, fed, and entertained, for at least a week.

Unfortunately it didn’t matter because we tired of one-another after only a few days; it wasn’t any different from being home, it was simply a different location.  The company remained the same.  Alas.

One of the regulars to make the trip was a big, green metal Army truck that fell casualty to the salty sea in a few short years.  Among the other regular items was a small box full of naked Barbie dolls for my sister.  They were naked because she immediately disrobed them upon receiving them.  In fact, everyone thought she would grow up to be a stripper.

A close imposter of our umbrella

And then there was the umbrella.  It was multicolored vinyl, attached to a metal pole with a spike.  My Dad would schlep that thing to and fro, and had a special utility rag with which to dutifully wipe it off after each use.  A small can of 3-in-One oil was an accompanying travel companion.

Each year that beach trek could have been mistaken for a scene from Lawrence of Arabia.  Much like T.E. Lawrence climbing the dunes of the Sahara with tribes of Arabs, my Dad, Mom, sister, and I, drudged over the dunes from the parking lot toward Aqaba.

Sherpa-like, each of us had our own special cargo which was needed to complete the encampment.  Dad led this march while proudly carrying the multi-colored umbrella.

After what seemed akin to days without water or sustenance, we arrived at the shoreline.  This same exercise was repeated – in reverse – after six hours of skin scorching sun, every day throughout the week.  Yeah!

After the first day of acquiring second-degree burns, my sister and I were ready for an official mutiny.  But we could tell time and both of us knew there would be hell to pay if we didn’t toe-the-line, so we did.

But by next July, we would forget about this torturous adventure and go willingly to the beach, once again.  Neither of us were smart enough to run away from home.

However, I recalled this story because I was reading the local newspaper here on The Eastern Shore, and nearly fell off my chair.

Today’s big front page item, above-the-fold, was about beach umbrellas.

It seems as though sixty-years later, society has become stupider.  Yes, stupider.

That news item addressed the beach umbrella crisis on our public beaches.

According to this hard-hitting story in The Daily Times, “Beachgoers have been injured – and even killed – by flying beach umbrellas.”

It was reported “that there were roughly 2,800 unconfirmed beach umbrella-related injuries between 2010-2018.”

In fact, the situation is so dire, U.S. Senator Chris Van Hollen, a Democrat from the People’s Republic of Maryland, feels that the federal government needs to increase measures to make “sure the public understands how to safely use a beach umbrella.”

Now you’re sitting there looking at your computer screen and wondering what sort of psychotropic drugs I’m ingesting.  For the record: I’M NOT USING ANY.

But you might want to give Senator Van Hollen’s office a call.  He’s the one with such faith in his voters/constituents, that he actually said he wants to make “sure the public understands how to safely use a beach umbrella.”

Growing up I knew my Dad was smart, but I just realized how smart he actually was.  Our umbrella never became airborne in all those beach vacations, and I never gave it a second thought.  He was smarter than a United States Senator thinks he was.

God rest your soul, Dad.

Just Quit Now

It’s that special time of year, again.  No, no, don’t get ahead of me.  We’re not going to talk about television networks reviving long-dead, lame shows with has-been actresses.  I won’t mention names, but think of idols such as Debra Messing.

Today we’re going to visit the world of sports.

I use the word “special” because this time is subject to interpretation.

In sports, the person or team with the highest score wins.  No exceptions.  Except in golf, that is.  But no other sports.  Maybe darts and cross-country events. Perhaps yachting, but that’s all.

In any event, this week began the annual event of bragging and complaining about nothing in the popular sport of kneeling – er, I mean professional football.

Pro football is that embarrassing contest with two teams of eleven overpaid malcontents attempting to commit first-degree murder, all the while crying about how police mistreat them when they are arrested for beating up their wives and girlfriends.  Awwww.

Like a basketball, but not as round

I know it’s pre-season football time because a has-been, very much like idol Debra Messing with a smaller nose and an Afro, Colin Kaepernick has been using social media to remind the world he is still unemployed, but ready for duty.  Attention: If some team needs a whiner and bench warmer, give him a call.  But I digress.

Pre-season football is a way to help teams to vie against real opponents on a real field, with real uniforms, in front of real fans, for real, all while getting real money.

But this exercise is not limited to the players, alone.

Fans get involved, too.  The middle-aged guys with beer bellies and no hair and too much time on their hands – much like Jerrold “Collusion” Nadler – are able to both brag and conjure-up excuses, as the case may be.

If your team wins, for instance, you can go to work wearing a smile and some team paraphernalia to irritate non-fans and other-team fans, alike.

On the other hand, if your team loses in pre-season, you will likely use the excuse that the pre-season games don’t count.  That’s because they don’t.

Of course fans don’t like to watch their team lose.  That, too, takes practice.

I used to be a New York Giants fan until their players’ idea of social justice spilled onto the field when they rubbed my nose in the National Anthem by calling me and my country racist.  Yeah!

For their information, the Giants use this pre-season time to justify their losses in preparation for weekly sportscasts after the in-season games they regularly lose.

So it is time for me to boycott the self-centered players who don’t mind taking my money from TV ads and/or stadium seating.  Those minstrels could very well be digging ditches or busing tables or stocking supermarket shelves, but they are not.

They see their jobs as a vehicle to introduce their inane opinions into my living room while making too much money for playing a game.

They are wrong.

Here’s the bottom line.  Quit carping about your job, your boss, the police, fans, America, and President Trump.

You’re not as important as you think.

California Brain Trust

As I’m sure there were in most high schools, cliques of the “smarter” students tried to create a special place for themselves.  They isolated their classmates in favor of those equally special, smart kids.

These non-inclusive dolts were the types with which you are familiar; the guys had beards, unibrows, and always looked stoned.  Come to think of it, so did the girls with whom they associated.  But I digress.

To be even more exclusive, they dyed their hair, wore unique clothing, and loved science fiction.  To that end, they also created their own language.  Their effort was to prevent the non-smart kids from eavesdropping on them to learn what inane lives they had.

Of course, it made no sense because there are so many different languages in the world.  In fact, I’ll save you the trouble of looking the number up and simply give it to you: over 6800.

With that staggering number of ways to communicate with one another, it would be stupid, not smart, to invent another language.  Besides, many of those non-inclusive kids were in my classes with me, and did poorly in English and German.

I occasionally wonder whatever happened to those smarter kids.  I speculate whether they got good jobs or married or in what prison they are currently residing.

And then it hit me.

Personhole, is a word that was new to me when I awoke this morning.  No, it didn’t appear in today’s crossword puzzle, it was something I heard on the news.

Another ear-catcher was personpower, as was persongo.  Yep.

If you think I’m creating my own smart language before your eyes, you couldn’t be more wrong.  But I believe I may have discovered offspring of some of those smart kids from my high school.

The news story to which I am referring is from the left coast city of Berkeley, California.  Apparently Berkeley is problem-free.  Even with thousands of homeless who are using the city streets as toilets, embarrassing violent and property crime rates, and outrageous tax rates, Berkeley City officials found time to solve the problem of filling a language void.

Officially changing common names to make society “all-inclusive” is quite ambitious.  Authoritatively banning use of the word “man” in ordinary language is, well, just plain stupid.

Manhole has become personhole, manpower is now personpower, and mango has suddenly been renamed persongo.

Photo of persongo fruit

While you may think this is humorous, it actually borders on lunacy.  This is the same way we became “politically correct” some years ago. We were slowly indoctrinated into making nitwits supervisors, hiring illiterate idiots to teach our children, and forcing lending institutions to give mortgages to people unable to repay loans, all in the name of political correctness.

Those efforts resulted in everyone being called racists, homophobes, misogynists, and bigots.  It divided our once strong, cohesive nation.

But today is special.  Today we have the benefit of hindsight, allowing us as a society to reject stupidity to make a handful of people “feel included”

Creating a new language was dumb in the 1960’s, and it is dumber right now in time.

And just as when I was in high school, I’m going to ignore your dim-witted efforts to exclude me and others under the guise of inclusiveness.

Go annoy someone else.