SOME VERY FINE PEOPLE

Yesterday two of the rancid old rightwing dillwads in the backroom nearly shat themselves with pleasure listening to the orange egomaniac droning on at a rally in Georgia where no one tried to shoot him. Despite him having two ears. Symmetry is a good thing, you know. Make it so.

So, yesterday evening, to rinse my own ears clean of the garbage to which they had been subjected, I put on the Uganda Police Band, playing Mapambano and Kweli Kweli. Splendid.
A rousing good time. Also listened to a girlish anime figure singing an upbeat song about the Dutch East Indies Company. Cheerful. And insane.


Like many people, I'll be glad when the election is over and we can back to sentencing the bozo. Lock him up, lock him up. We've had enough of old white men trying to run things and tell us what to do. Ditch them all. You know, some of my best friends are old white men, and they say so too. And I myself am an old white man. I can oldwhitemansplain, because I'm entitled. Oldwhitemansplaining is my culural heritage!
I'm just better at it than them.
Old white men are exactly what infests the backroom at work soiling either the air or their diapers. We haven't called Orkin yet. Sad.

No, Trump and Bernie Sanders don't lurk there.


I also spent some time with computer paint yesterday. It's one of the things that keeps me sane. Here's a canal in a city in the Netherlands, where orange is the national colour, with not a shred of orange visible.

Orange is their national colour because of the fruit. Not the freak.

All of you old white men, kindly shut up.




Also, immensely cheering, was an account of the suffering and martyrdom of St. Isaac Jogues, a Frenchman who despite better instincts, inexplicably not followed, went back to missionize the Iroquios who had held him captive and tortured his companions to death. He was done in with a tomahawk (1646). Golly, what a suprise. Somewhere in the wilds of New Netherland (now New York). Pius XI canonized him in 1930. His feast day is October 19.
I suffered a gleeful fit of the giggles while reading about his life and martyrdom.
It would have been good material for a Monty Python skit.

What on earth would you serve on his feast day?
Cervelle de veau? Succotash?




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