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 Tales from real life |
| Well, if they're not true, they oughta be! |
There are many things that used to be considered normal, but would freak people out today. Like kids riding in the back of a pickup truck, smoking in a restaurant, or playing with mercury. I remember that there was a small bottle of mercury on a knickknack shelf at my grandma’s house. It might have been ‘liberated’ in the 1930s by my uncle Bill when he worked in the underground copper mines in Butte, Montana. It might even have been left over from the 1860s when my great-grandpa Albert panned for gold near Virginia City during the Montana gold rush. Mercury can be used to separate gold dust from sand and gravel, and it’s still being used today for gold mining in third world countries. Regardless of its source, the silvery liquid metal on grandma Anna’s shelf was tempting to us kids. The thick glass bottle was rectangular rather than round, and it had a wire bail cap with a rubber gasket that kept the mercury safely sealed inside. Its label was long gone so I don’t know if the bottle originally contained liquor, patent medicine, or maybe that was just the way mercury was packaged way back when. I remember that the bottle looked old-fashioned to me even in 1967. Liquid mercury is a fascinating thing to a 10-year-old, bright silver and mysteriously viscous as it flows back and forth. Unlike water, its surface tension is so high that it ‘stands up’ as though repelled by the glass wall of the bottle. The most startling thing, though, is its weight. Mercury is 13 times as dense as water. That small bottle contained only eight or ten fluid ounces, but it hefted like a ten-pound sack of sugar. Grandpa would smile when one of us would fail to pick it up on the first try. A really small kid might have to use both hands. And such a treasure was too difficult to resist, so I took a cue from my uncle and ‘liberated’ a spoonful to show to my fifth-grade friends. Everyone was impressed as I’d hoped, but my little relish jar wasn’t as secure as the bottle at grandma’s house. The mercury escaped one afternoon as it was being passed around on the school bus. Soon, there were little beads of bright silver rolling up and down the grooves of the rubber mat in the aisle. Every time the bus slowed or went downhill, the beads rolled forward. They rolled back again with acceleration or an uphill climb. We all giggled hysterically for the rest of our trip home that day. I couldn’t tell the bus driver, of course, and I’ve sometimes wondered if he ever figured out what was going on. Maybe he didn’t even notice, mercury is quite volatile, so it would have evaporated in a day or two. The only lasting evidence was the unseen damage to our bodies from inhaling toxic mercury vapor. Several years later, I learned about the very real danger of mercury fumes when our high school science teacher decided to make a J-tube barometer. He used a Bunsen burner to soften some glass tubing and slowly bent it into a J shape. Then he put a dollop of mercury inside and closed off the short end by melting it with the Bunsen burner. The result was an air bubble trapped in the short side of the J-tube. The mercury level in the long side of the tube changes depending on the outside air pressure. So, the J-tube can be mounted on a piece of poster board with a scale, and the level of the mercury can be used as a barometric pressure gauge. It took Mr. Foulis a number of tries to perfect his technique and he spilled mercury onto the lab bench once or twice as he worked. Heat from the Bunsen burner only exacerbated his exposure to the mercury vapor. The cumulative effect of breathing the toxic fumes over a span of several days landed him in the hospital with symptoms similar to pneumonia. The mercury vapor damaged his lungs and he coughed up bloody mucous. Fortunately, he recovered and returned to school a week later with a truly convincing lesson about the dangers of mercury poisoning and the need for lab safety gear. All this happened at about the same time that we learned about mercury contamination in food fish such as tuna. Environmental mercury gets into the ocean from natural sources such as erosion and volcanic activity. Even more comes from coal-fired power plants and illegal gold mining. It builds up in fatty tissue and becomes more concentrated as it rises up the food chain. These were all proven facts, yet I remember a general sense of skepticism about the dangers of mercury poisoning. The toxic effects were already well known, but parents didn’t want to hear that a tasty tuna casserole could be harmful to their children. It was easier to scoff at the biologists and remain blissfully ignorant. But long-term exposure to mercury at low levels can cause brain damage or kidney failure. In the 18th century, mercury was part of the process for making felt hats. Milliners were constantly exposed to traces of mercury in the fabric and their symptoms became the source of the old saying, “Mad as a hatter.” So, it’s definitely better to limit exposure. Today, my mercury story makes me think of the woke movement. Anti-woke conservatives are quite open about keeping their children ignorant of anything that might embarrass them. They don’t want to acknowledge the ‘bad’ parts of history like slavery and Jim Crow by teaching kids about the civil rights movement. Instead, they want to emphasize glorious accomplishments by white male 'Christians' while glossing over the contributions of women and minorities. Presidential mandates have already led to the purging of ‘woke’ stories from government and military websites. The anti-woke movement uses MAGA as justification for not loving their neighbors. More importantly, buying into MAGA allows them to avoid responsibility for being their brother’s keeper. Willful ignorance means they don’t have to welcome immigrants, act with Christian charity toward others, or even pay taxes. I get it, I'd certainly feel less guilty about exposing my classmates to mercury if I'd never found out about its toxic effects. On the other hand, if I had fully understood the danger (by being woke), I might not have played with it like a shiny toy. And if my grandma had been more aware, that bottle of mercury might not have been left within reach of a curious child. Bigotry, racism, and a sense of cultural entitlement are a bit like mercury poisoning. The source isn’t always obvious and the long-term effects of even low exposure can be severe. Kids aren’t born to hate. It takes hateful adults to teach them. That’s a real problem. And awareness of a problem is the first step in finding a solution. Ignorance is never an acceptable strategy. I believe woke is the first step in protecting all children from being poisoned by systemic bigotry. And only the woke will be able to feel empathy and find solutions. |
| Reposted from Real Fake News: Trump Bans Number 42 by staff reporter Bob L. Head “Number 42 was the original DEI hire,” smirked President Trump as he signed an executive order directing Major League Baseball to remove all references to Jackie Robinson from their Jackie Robinson Day celebration. "If we're gonna celebrate a number, then let's do 47. Your favorite president is a real winner. That Robinson guy never won an election, and he never drew crowds as big as mine!" “And we're finally going to re-integrate baseball,” the president continued. "It's time that foreign players stopped taking jobs from real Americans. The MLB can stop the DEI hiring policies or I'll do it for them. I'm calling on the Dominicans, Cubans, and especially the Venezuelans to self-deport or face going to prison in El Salvador. And the NFL better pay attention, I'm coming for them next!" |
King Don the Turd claims that America is being cheated by foreign nations, but he's so full of shit that his middle name is John (true story!). The truth is always the exact opposite of what Trump claims. The U.S. standard of living is actually the highest in the world. American obesity is epidemic, and the fitness industry brings in $40 billion a year. Middle-class American families have two cars, and most people drive to work. In Europe, a middle-class family might have one car, and most people go to work by bus, bicycle, or on foot. Gasoline in almost all other countries costs 1 1/2 to 2 times what Americans pay. Foreign visitors are always shocked by America's huge supermarkets overflowing with low-priced food products. Housing in the U.S. is also more affordable. Other countries have mortgage terms of 50 years or more. The only way a family can purchase a home is for the children to inherit their parent's loan. And amid all this plenty, the U.S. ranks only 45th in taxes paid by the average citizen. How can the U.S. enjoy so much and pay so little? It's all based on debt and deficit spending. That is simply a fact. The U.S. national debt was approximately $6 trillion in 2001, when George W. Bush took office. It was the last time that the U.S. government achieved a balanced budget. By the end of 2024, the debt grew to almost $36 trillion. The math isn't difficult (unless you're in the Trump cabinet). America has spent $30 trillion of other people's money since 2001. If any nation is being cheated, it certainly isn't America. Bill Clinton's budget surplus was due to taxes that he pushed through in his first year in office (although his budgets also contained some spending cuts). The Clinton tax increase was directed at upper-income taxpayers. Republicans falsely claimed it was the largest tax increase in history, and they portrayed it as a horrible burden for the middle class. The smear tactic worked well enough that Dubya was able to steal the 2000 election and begin the process of looting the U.S. economy on behalf of a wealthy elite. Whatever happened to the old-fashioned idea of paying your own way? Americans hold some of the national debt (I have some savings bonds myself), and half of it is made up of accounting tricks where the government borrows money from itself, but almost 25% is held by foreign countries. And the biggest incentive for foreigners to invest in the United States is stability. Wealthy elites from around the world park their money in American investments because they feel safe. But now we have a freakin' moron in charge who boasts, "I love chaos." He's determined to extort even more money from people who are already financing America's spending addiction (Make America Grift Again). And a very plausible response to this insane trade war is to halt investment in the U.S. economy. If the value of the dollar falls, then foreign investors could sell their holdings or even call in their loans. The result would be a downward spiral for the U.S. dollar that might last for years. This would make the government debt that Americans hold worth far less than they invested. The Trump administration might even choose to default on U.S. bonds. What a rosy prospect! And even if the tariffs did force manufacturing back to the U.S, prices would be permanently higher. Lower cost is why the Republicans moved their businesses to Asia in the first place. Many Asian workers get a daily wage comparable to an American's hourly wage. Are you patriotic enough to take a 50% pay cut to prop up the economy? How would you support your current spending habits if you did? The process of moving industry takes years. Wages would be lost entirely in the interim and sales of almost everything would suffer. So, what do we call it when the economy shrinks, the dollar goes down and prices go up? That's right, inflation. Fueled by the bilious gases that emanate from the biggest horse's ass in history. Perhaps that's why he calls himself a stable genius. |
Extortion is far more profitable than business, and it's less work too! - The Gospel of Trump There have been multiple reports of law firms caving in to demands from the Trump administration. Some have promised him free legal services, some have donated to his personal political action committee, and all of them have promised to support his white supremacy agenda. The Trump goons prefer to call it 'anti-diversity' but we all know what they mean (and it is mean). Why this sudden burst of craven cowardice? The president has issued a formal memo to the Justice Department and Homeland Security that directs them to open an investigation into any law firm who brings a civil case against the Trump administration. What might best describe this tactic? To borrow a term from the president himself, this is weaponization of the Justice Department for his own personal benefit. But that's only one example of blatant corruption in the White House. The Trump criminal organization has also begun selling presidential pardons. Last Friday, Trump signed a pardon for Trevor Milton, founder of an electric vehicle company named Nikola. Milton defrauded investors by showing them a faked video of a Nikola truck. He claimed that the video showed a prototype vehicle in operation when it was actually just coasting downhill. And closer inspection revealed that it was really a GM product disguised with Nikola badging. The video evidence made the case an easy win for the prosecution. Milton was found guilty of fraud and sentenced to four years in prison. Why would Trump pardon such an obvious con man? Well, Milton is on record as being a staunch Trump supporter and, more importantly, he recently donated $1.8 million to Trump's personal PAC. I don't know if that's a bribe, a quid pro quo, or just a favor. Those terms all seem to be interchangeable in Washington D.C. these days. At any rate, when asked about giving the pardon, Trump said that he didn't actually know the man or the details of the case. He merely 'heard good things about him' from 'a lot of people'. The president also tossed out a conjecture that Milton was prosecuted only because he's a Trump supporter. Why would malicious prosecution spring to mind? I suppose it's kind of like using the Justice Department to prosecute a law firm just because they represent someone who isn't a Trump supporter. You might also wonder how Trevor Milton gained access to make such a deal. It turns out that he hired Brad Bondi to plead his case. Does that name sound familiar? Yep, Brad is Attorney General Pam Bondi's brother. And he's getting a nice fat fee for using his sister's position in the Trump administration to further the interests of his client. Hmm, isn't that pretty much what Hunter Biden was accused of? Of course, there wasn't ever any real evidence against Hunter Biden. Maybe that was also malicious prosecution, because he wasn't a Trump supporter. Maybe he should have been more open about soliciting bribes. And more forthcoming about giving the Don a taste. |
Occasionally, this topic is suggested in the WDC newsfeed: Name something that you're simply happy with... For me, that would be my 2008 Mazda Miata convertible. I started looking for a convertible in 2010, after driving a 'pop-top' Honda Del Sol for a couple of years. That car had been gifted to me by my older sister. It felt a little tired at 180,000 miles, but I enjoyed the (almost) open-air experience with the top removed. And the engine was still running well, so I regifted the Del Sol to my daughter and told my wife that I needed a real convertible for myself (Liz drove the Del Sol another 30K miles). There were a number of desirable cars available at the time, even after I disqualified the four-door models as too big and the Lotus Elise as too exotic (but super cool). I considered the Saturn Sky, Toyota MR2, Honda S2000, BMW M3, even the FIAT Spider. They were all attractive cars with the top down, but less so with the ragtop up. I decided that I wanted a power retractable hardtop. That left only the Mazda Miata in my price range. But that was okay, because Mazda builds reliable cars that get good gas mileage. The Miata may be a bit short on horsepower, but it provides a ton of fun. And a Miata with the hardtop up is almost as pretty as it is with the hardtop down. I got lucky in 2011 when a low-mileage Miata PRHT model showed up at a nearby Toyota dealership. The paint is Stormy Blue Mica, and it has the upgraded suspension package with 17-inch wheels, Bilstein shocks, and a limited slip rear differential. In other words, Zoom-Zoom! The Toyota salesman told me it was a trade-in from a guy who married a woman with 2 kids and needed the interior space of a RAV4. The salesman was also motivated by the cold February rain to move that convertible quickly. So, I got exactly the car I wanted, with only 4300 miles on it, for $10,000 dollars less than new. And I've been simply happy with it for the last fourteen years. Something I haven’t been happy with is an arthritic left knee. The reason I finally gave up my motorcycle and bought the Miata is that my knee no longer felt solid enough to handle riding. And it’s only gotten worse over the years. I've seen doctors, I've used lots of aspirin and, recently, I've begun to contemplate a knee replacement. So, a couple of weeks ago I saw an orthopedist to discuss the alternatives. He insisted on a new series of X-rays and determined that I have advanced arthritis. Well, duh. Then he drained 30cc of fluid from the knee and gave me a cortisone shot. He told me I could proceed with a knee replacement whenever I was ready, but the cortisone might allow me to postpone an operation for another year or two. I can hardly believe how well it worked! Why didn't I try that years ago? I started walking normally again immediately. The sun was shining brightly as I left the clinic, and so was my attitude. I felt like a kid with a new toy. I felt so good that I got a bit overexuberant on the drive home. I love cranking up the tunes and going through the gears in my Miata. I like going fast, but I admit that I'm slightly less skilled than the average grand prix driver. I missed a shift and hit the gas in fifth when I meant to be in third. The RPMs went zoom, but the car did not. Uh, oh, what's that acrid burning smell? Yep, I fried the clutch. The car still drove okay (as long as I didn't accelerate too hard), but like my arthritic knee, I knew it would only get worse with time. And unlike the knee, there's no quick fix to make the clutch feel better. So, I took the Miata in for a new clutch. Things had changed since my last service appointment. They have this new-fangled thing called the internet now. The Mazda shop sent me a link to a video of the mechanic going over my car. The first thing he said when opening the hood was that it smelled like burnt clutch. Not a surprise. Then he looked at the fluids. The engine oil was okay by mileage but overdue by the calendar. The differential, transmission, power steering, and brake fluid had all been changed at the 40,000-mile service, but that was eleven years ago. So, I told the shop to bring all the scheduled maintenance up to date while they were at it. I haven’t put a lot of miles on the Miata since my retirement in 2016, but time marches on. The mechanic looked at my tires and pronounced them expired. How could that be? They had less than 20,000 miles on them since, uh, 2014. I’d never heard the term expired used for tires before, but he pointed out several places where the twelve-year old tread was starting to chunk off little bits of rubber. Adding four new tires to the bill made a total of ouch! But I love that car, and the new clutch feels even better than my lubricated knee. So, even after the big bill, if you ask me to name something that I'm simply happy with . . . It would still be my 2008 Mazda Miata convertible. Zoom-Zoom! |
There may be political ideas worth dying for, but there none that are worth killing for. This week, Donald Trump expanded his campaign for world dominance by ordering the murder of dozens of Houthi rebels. Do you know who the Houthis are? Where they live? What they're rebelling against? Or why the U.S. military conducted an air strike against them? Neither do I, but we're in good company. No one at the White House knows either. The Houthis are generally anti-American, but they didn't commit any specific offense to trigger the strike. They're an irritant to the Yemeni government, but they don't present much of a threat to the U.S. So, what's the deal? Well, their dead are intended partly to serve as an object lesson for Iran. We know this because subtlety is not Donald Trump's strong suit. He publicly boasted that killing Houthi rebels was a 'signal' to the Iranian government. Some signal. It takes a truly evil person to abuse their official power to the extent of murder. But the killings weren't really about Iran either, they were primarily an ego boost for Donald J. Trump. Imagine how powerful that nasty old man feels to wield the Godlike power of death. I'll bet it really stiffens his little mushroom. Everyone will have to take him seriously if he kills a bunch of people, right? Adolph Hitler and Mao Zedong aren't mocked as pathetic losers. And the American news media will surely get the message and start giving him positive news coverage. Or else a lot more people might have to be killed. I mean look what happened to the Houthis. But being Trump means never doing the right things and never doing things right. Acting president Musk took the shine off Donald's triumph by pointing out that it's the unelected bureaucrats (like himself and Pete Hegseth) who do the actual killing. Despite pulling the strings, Donald Trump remains a pathetic loser. Just a figurehead to be exploited by those who wield the real power. |
Earning My Derision (to the tune of Losing My Religion by R.E.M.) Your lies are bigger They're bigger than you And you are not nice The lengths that you will go to The disdain in your eyes Oh, please, don't say that stuff You're fucking up That's you at the rally That's you in the spotlight Sowing your dissension I try to withstand your lies And I don't know if I can do it Oh, no, you've said too much You never could shut up I can always hear you sneering Your insults are meant to sting You always play the bully Every moment Of every waking hour You choose to drag me down I try to find some good in you Like a hurt, lost and blinded MAGA fool Oh, no, I've lost too much I've been set up Consider this Consider this, the hint of the century Consider this, your whip That brought me to my knees, failed What if all your fantasies come Flailing down Oh, yes, you're fucking up I can always hear you sneering Your insults are meant to sting You always play the bully And I can only scream All I have are screams That's you at the rally That's you in the spotlight Earning my derision I try to withstand your lies And I don't know if I can do it Oh, no, you've said too much You never could shut up I can always hear you sneering Your insults are meant to sting You always play the bully And the pain won't go away Try, cry, why try? That’s my nightmare scream Just a scream Just a scream, scream |
This was my entry for the February 2025 round of the The Humorous Poetry Contest  .Knock, Knock, Madame “Knock, knock,” I cry in urgent pain. “Who could it be?” you ask again. “Tis I, madame, let me explain.” “Begone, strange man, you plead in vain.” “I do not wish to be a bore, but lift the latch, I must implore.” “I’ve opened once, so why do more?” “Because my damn foot’s in the door!” When I was a kid, I would never have dropped an f-bomb. My mom would have beat my butt with her yardstick and then washed my mouth out with Ivory soap (99 44⁄100% pure). To be fair, she was actually much more kind than strict. You could count the number of times she used the yardstick on one hand and the soap sessions on the other. It must have been effective, though, because I rarely swear or use rough language. Beyond an occasional dammit when I stub a toe or hammer my thumb, of course. Nobody's perfect, and even 99 44⁄100% pure is a tall order. My generally polite usage is especially surprising because my dad was a real pro with vulgar invective. He learned early from cowboys, miners, and loggers, then honed his skill with a four-year stint in the navy. Dad could swear fluently and at length without being boring or repetitive (unlike most stand-up comics). But that was his outside voice. He (mostly) refrained when he was in the house or with his family in public. None of us kids ever even tried to match his example. We thought it was clever to get away with saying things like 'dam water' or 'hell-o operator'. Oh, days of innocence lost! One opportunity for childish hilarity was this knock, knock joke: Knock, knock! Who's there? Madame Madame who? My damn foot's stuck in the door! My poem is intended as an homage to that old joke. I agree that the last line is strained, but I decided to remain true to the way I remember the punchline. |
A couple of years ago, there was near panic as a Chinese spy balloon drifted across the entire continental U.S before being shot down by heroic U.S. aviators. Apologists for the communist regime claimed it was merely a 'weather balloon'. They said it was no different from the dozens of balloons released every year by our own National Weather Service. I'm not so sure that it was an innocent science mission. That balloon came within hundreds of miles of several sensitive U.S. sites. It had a number of so-called meteorological devices that could have gathered vital information about rainfall, windspeed. or even reservoir levels. The only thing that prevented a more serious data breach was that it had no directional control. Thank God for Asian drivers! But there is a much larger conspiracy being perpetrated on the American public by even more nefarious agents of a foreign government. Imagine a fleet of millions of high-tech spy vehicles roaming across America with cameras, microphones, radar, and GPS tracking. And many of these interlopers have been given permission to access secure government parking areas. They're even waved through checkpoints at military bases! It may seem inconceivable, but the co-president of the United States, an unelected bureaucrat, is the one behind the conspiracy. And he's given the 'elected' president a $300 million bribe to look the other way as he undermines America. I'm talking about Tesla spy craft, of course. We know for a fact that every one of Elon's electric vehicles is connected to the internet. Collectively, they can upload Terabytes of sensitive data to Russia's Foreign Intelligence Service every day. They can listen and record every word uttered in their vicinity. They have millions of camera eyes monitoring our every move. And here's another chilling fact. Every one of these self-driving cars is capable of piloting itself to a classified target to gather secret intelligence. No driver needed! And, very soon, they'll be able to contact Vladimir Putin directly through the Starlink satellite constellation. Russia, are you listening? |
Selling your soul only feels wrong while you have one. Once it's gone, you don't miss it at all. - The Gospel of Trump I called the university and booked some time on their scanning electron microscope today. I wanted to see if I could find some respect for President Trump. No go. I felt bad about it for a minute and then I thought, Wait, maybe I should look at him instead of me. If I can detect any reason at all to respect him, then I might feel better. I set the microscope to its maximum magnification and looked for compassion, kindness, or humility. Nope, nope, and nope. Well, Christian virtues aren't everything. Maybe I can find courage, integrity, or wisdom. Not a trace. There has to be something positive, what about humor, intelligence, or good looks? Not even a blip. Then the view became murky, and I realized that the lens was completely fouled with uttered bullshit. I shook my head in disappointment and left. My time slot was about done, anyway. |
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