AWASH WITH CRUNCH

Both men had remained at the bakery while their wives went grocery shopping. One of them came back first and started talking about a vacation, not to Europe, that was inconvenient, but perhaps Singapore, Malaysia, or Vietnam. Her Cantonese was clear and perfectly intelligible, which indicated to me that she was reasonably educated, probably well-read, and perhaps from Hong Kong. Or maybe that's just what I speak like, which for all I know may be somewhere hinterlandish. Though I describe it as "goomba from Tsimshatsui".

In any case, lovely to listen to.

The other one returned and tried to share her groceries. The first lady refused. No, I do not want any buns. No, I have plenty of bokchoi. No, I will not accept those mantou. Who eats mantou? Repeatedly.

Some Cantonese women have a desperate need to give everyone food, or supply edibles. Friends, neighbors, kinfolk. Sometimes even people they barely know. Both my apartment mate and my landlady are like that, and they're far more American than Canto at this point, as both of them think in English and hardly ever go to C'town. In consequence of which there is dimsum, cooked food, and French pastries in the fridge, and a boxed Italian cake-like thing which I don't know what it is on the kitchen counter.

Yeah okay, I do that too. A mango and some lovely green cabbages like bokchoy for the old Indonesian Chinese woman downstairs, veggies (enough for three to five soupie-soups) for my apartment mate, plus three bags of snackiepoos. Very modern urban Chinese snackiepoos. Metropolitan flavours.

Also, we have cheese. From my apartment mate. As a Dutchman I am the major cheese consumer here. Also, there is a surfeit of cookies in the teevee room. Gotta keep the grumpy Dutchman fed, otherwise he moans and whimpers heartrendingly or something.
Including little lemon flower cookies. Which are delicious.

She shops at Trader Joe's, which is very nearby and everything is in English, whereas I go to Chinatown across the hill and shop in Cantonese. I don't think I've ever used English at my favourite provisioners. And at the groceries where I get fruits and vegetables I would rather not embarass the people working there by requiring them to speak "white". Something tells me that they aren't fluent in that. We'll get along better if we don't.

At the shop where I get Chinese cigarettes they speak English, Cantonese, Toisanwaa, and Mandarin. But for cigarettes I always speak Chinese. Not only because of the brandnames.

[Current brands: Jade Creek (玉溪 'yiuk kai'), Honourabe Smoke (貴煙 'kwai yin'), Five Leaf Deity (五葉神 'ng yip san').
Honourable Smoke has a tangerine peel flavour capsule (陳皮爆珠 'chan pei baau jü') in the filter. Very nice.]


Only a few of my apartment mate's stuffed animals speak Chinese. They sometimes cuss at each other Chinatown style on her bed. Some of them kvetch in English.
Her room can be noisy at times.

None of my stuffed animals speaks Dutch.
Which is odd.



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THE GLOWING UGLY

On Monday a Yale alumnus disrobed, went over to a Tesla shop with a shotgun, and ran around screaming. Which is probably perfectly normal for such a business. Why, folks do it all the time! Or perhaps they should. I don't know, it's not something I would advise, but it's up to you. For me it's just one more reason to scrupulously avoid all things Musk.
Nudity in public is not something which I endorse.

Which is why I must object, strenuously object, to the full moon on Grant Avenue yesterday evening. The bookseller and I were walking up the street, and just outside one of the local bars a nasty looking random nutball was gyrating in the middle of the street with a naked arse. I suspect he may have been trying to get rid of a daemon that possessed him through his backwards cannon, I did not ask the bookseller what he thought it was, we both changed the subject immediately and continued on to the bus stop deep in conversation, discussing totally non-rump related matters. It was a very ugly rear-end.


I blame Trump and Maga for this. White people empowerment.
The main problem with that is it encourages loonies.
Which is destructive to society.

Heck, just look at parts of the Deep South.

The reason why we have people like that in the Bay Area is basically regifted fruitcake. We didn't ask for it, but somewhere in Appalacksativiboola decided they needed to buy cousin Jebediah a one-way Greyhound ticket. They packed his bags for him. One clean pair of undies, a pack of ciggies, and a hip-flask of cheap Bourbon. Don't forget to write. Bye.


At least today I got to hear someone sane but old obsessing over avocados, a perfectly normal conversation, which are three dollars a bag at one place but only two and a half dollars at another. This demonstrates a stern grip on reality. Avocados are serious stuff.
Also, where was that movie theatre they all went to in their twenties?
Was it on Jackson, or on Washington?

All of this prompted by a dream about a friend who passed away forty years ago and a VW beetle. Which was probably a stick shift -- so I could have driven it, but I didn't say so -- and would be a rarity these days. I enjoyed my milk tea and egg tart, paid, and bade farewell.
Lunch had been good. Tea time had likewise.
A good afternoon.



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JUST RELAX

Now that there is a ceasefire which gives Iran the upperhand, the realization is slowly sinking in that we should have fought until the last Hegseth. Only then would the righteous women of Iran been closer to freedom, democracy, and the burning of veils. All over the United States, America's little June Cleavers would have made scrumptious desserts with canned fruit, Kool Wip and flavoured gelatine to celebrate, and Christian fundies would have sung hosannas in giddy celebration. The problem is that none of the oligarchs would have gotten any richer. And without that happening, there's no real point to any of this, is there?

Oh wait. The ceasefire is already collapsing.
There's still money to be made.


Not being vested in any way in this, I firmly intend to ignore all of it while enjoying lunch today at a familiar place where most of the regulars are just regular folks talking about family and kids and plans for the weekend. In Cantonese. Some Mandarin speakers, but mostly American Cantonese. Not a single bloody Hegseth in sight.

After which I will enjoy the Spring sunlight while smoking my pipe.

No vegans, no religious nuts, no red baseball caps.
Very few insane people of any type.

I am getting too old to put up with stupid rightwing Anglos getting worked up and screaming. Or setting fire to the world and yelling that the Europeans should come to save our hash. Or the corrupt Israeli and American politicians trying to get even richer so that they can take it all with them when they deservedly kick the bucket. Or venal Arab monarchs shitting in their silk dishdashas because events are interfering with their camel races and enjoyment of sexual degeneracy, usually ably enabled by Putin's talking heads on Fox.


I've had a long day and I hate The Eagles, man.



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LAB CREATURES

Today was rather exhausting. Got up extremely early so that I could be at work well before anyone showed up. Which means that as I write this it is past my bedtime. And it was cold both in the morning and after nightfall. For which I'm blaming malignant providence.
As well as the usual suspects.

On very bright spot was hearing the neurosurgeon trying to convince some insurance company phone-drooge overseas that he was not artifical intelligence but a reall live human being. Apparently his voice sounds like a robot. To some mal-educated dingo in a cheap part of the world who is probably trained to make things as difficult as possible.

If you ever wondered why you can't get essential care, now you know. Insurance company tactics. They want you to just die. It's the American thing to do.

[My heavens these poofy corn styrofoam nuggets are salty and cheesy and just packed with crunchie-munchie goodness! And there are real dairy byproducts among the ingredients. Kudos!]

The neurosurgeon is a very patient man.
Sadly, I am not.


That's why he gets to talk to the obfuscation department, and I get to giggle.
It's also an entirely different pay grade.

Anyway, I also heard about lab mice and antibodies while he telephone-conferenced and smoked cigars. I enjoyed my pipe while puttering around, and I think both of us got a lot accomplished before the rancid old coots made that difficult. When I got back to the city my feet felt like a wreck. More so while waiting for the bookseller to arrive. The cold didn't help. The pipe I smoked while waiting did.

It was a short evening, but added to the hours since I got up it's been a helluva long day. My legs feel like trash right now.

The ghost of an iceberg is tormenting me.



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NOT PRESUMING

After greeting the woman who works there I ordered my food, and while I sat down and arranged my coat over the chair and tobacco pipe, pouch, and a few other things on the table in readiness for a long casual smoke afterwards, she kvelled to an older couple that I spoke excellent Cantonese and was entirely self-taught. To which I naturally responded that I would not dare to presume: 喺邊度？我唔敢當。真嘅。

Quite formulaic politeness. But entirely accurate. My Cantonese is not fluent enough, it was acquired without much thought over the years, and I learned a lot of it from gangster films.
Which probably explains why my Mandarin is totally lousy.
Not nearly as many gangsters.

A perfectly unremarkable man having very normal food.
But I like dumplings. Which were on the wall.
Written in Chinese only.
九菜餃湯。

Worth pointing out, perhaps, that chives (韭菜 'gau choi') are sometimes written as "nine vegetable" (九菜 'gau choi'). It's much easier and makes things a little more complicated.

Nine vegetable dumplings (九菜餃子 'gau choi gaau ji') are very good.

Eight delightful chive and pork dumplings semi-submerged in a broth with some bright green leafy mustard stalks. Each one eaten with a small dab of chili paste. Absolutely divine.
Chopped scallion for garnish, of course.


This morning, while walking around the lower slopes of Nob Hill smoking the first pipe of the day, I sincerely wished that that eatery were much closer, instead of on the other side of the hill, and opened at the crack of dawn. Or closer and open much later. They close at six. Dumplings would be very nice after dark.

Or before it is light out.


Dumplings with that lovely ruffled fold probably do not freeze very well.
So buying some to take home for a rainy day is not an answer.



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ROUNDING UP

The opening page for MSN Personalized News continues to be instructive, as well as dominated by the algorithms. Two examples: having looked up (on wikipedia) human spongeform encephalitis (kuru) several weeks ago, every tenth or eleventh article is about cannibalism, and because I bought a Faberware stainless steel saucepan last month (one quart), I keep seeing advertisements for exactly the same product.

Dude. I already have a new saucepan. I use it to heat water for coffee or tea. And I'm wired to the tits on caffeine right now, so I really don't need another one. Besides, it is far too small to play any part in furthering human spngiform encephalitis, and I do not habitually entertain Alabama Republicans anyway. I never invite them over, and I refuse to feed them now that they've lost foodstamps, medicaid, and childcare. They have relatives to spare.

You'd need a stockpot for that.
Size extra large.

Great with grits.


Anyway, the "news" that the MSN Personalized News page wishes me to swallow seems to be mostly garbage. Burkina Faso is a horrible place, any warcrimes which we will commit are a good thing, rescued pilot holds American flag huzzah huzzah, life is better in Texas, Iran is sinister, your morning coffee can diagnose (or even cause) liver issues, sharks, Palestinians continue to be unspeakably evil, Ivy league schools must be totally destroyed, China and the Europeans are funding anti-Americanism, taxing the wealthy will destroy us, a drugged teen kills parents in blue state, the president is healthier than ever, foreigners are bringing disease into the country, Kansas city is soccer-obsessed, itchy breasts are a warning sign, homeless people steal socks at laundromats, Britains liberal policies let killers go free, Jesus ...

Please tell me more about the link between Jesus and human spngiform encephalitis.

Also, are photogenic American flags part of the standard kit for pilots? Do they help the seal team locate them? There he was, alone on the mountain, but his American flag and rugged John Wayne-esque patriotism sustained him and helped the rescuers find him. Which just proves that people are leaving the blue states because of killer drug-addled teenagers.

And it's all those evil Chinese / Europeans / Foreigners / Iranians.
Plus the Ivy league schools and Palestinians.
You need a saucepan.



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WELL-BEHAVED GRIZZLY BEARS

Yesterday was all about kiddies and chicken foetuses. And snorting mega-lines of Adderall, screamed senile fury, insulting two billion Muslims, and, generally speaking being a total dick. Probably because the prospect of a whole host of noisy little kiddies that he was forbidden to touch running around looking for chicken foetuses seemed like a threat.

Meanwhile, our limp-dicked tattooed and alcoholic Secretary of Warcrimes deliberately dissed every service member who wasn't a hard nosed Protestant bigot and racist.

Which was counterproductive, and religiously partisan, but seeing as so much of the country consists of Protestant bigots and racists, that's probably a sign of the times.

[Not a sign of the "End Times". Only morons believe that.]

Word to the wise: Don't visit The South. It's filled with Protestant bigots and racists.
Instead, if you have friends there, encourage them to move out.
There's grits and fried chicken elsewhere.
Plus pork rinds and sweet tea.

Probably not in Canada, though. They're decent people, but inexplicably they prefer whale blubber and ginger ale instead. Far less chance of diabetes and inflamed organs.
More college graduates, too.

Thanks to the United States upsetting the applecart, oil is up (yay!), stocks are sliding (yay!), all of Europe and the world hates us (yay!), and we're a laughing stock more than ever.

But we're building a brand-new ballroom. It will be a much bigger and better ballroom than that tacky old ballroom in Versailles, that will show Macron. It will be huge! Everyone says they've never seen a more glorious ballroom, with gold trim and ornamentation like you've never seen! And everyone will happily do the little shuffle with the fist pump dance!
While chanting 'drill, baby, drill'. Oh, it will be splendid!

Without a new ballroom, we're done for.

The progress of human civilization is measured in ballrooms.
The Chinese don't have a ballroom, and look at them.
The Vatican doesn't have one either.
'Murica! 'Murica!
Yay!



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THE EMPTY SPACES

Year ago in the evenings I would head over to a local karaoke bar to smoke my pipe. My drink would be upstairs on the counter while I myself lurked in the portico puffing away. An hour or two later, having unwound and spent time with my own head and no one else, few distractions, I would wander home, Apparently some of the people half my age did not like that. My pipe fumes were oppressively old white male.

They closed down a while back. Many of their old patrons have spread across the country. Some of them have experienced emotional or job-related issues.
I am still in sporadic contact with one or two of them.

The other customers I do not miss.

That portico was nice.


I am reminded of this because one of my geographically distant FB friends appears to be losing his marbles, or at least his moral bearings. I worry whether he can afford his insulin.
As well as feeding his cat.

I'll just assume (and hope) that his moral bearings will be missing for a while.
Then eventually return the better for wear.

I do not actually know much about the cat. Unlike many people he doesn't post pictures or short clips. I'm imaging a short-hair with bad temper and rancid mouse breath.

I am not a cat person, as I do not have a pet. But there is a ghost cat that occasionally visits in the morning when I'm still waking up. It wanders around a bit, does not knock things off surfaces, then sort of disappears.

There are probably animals spirits in many urban buildings. They are still fixated on favourite spaces and sunbeams, and do not wish to move on quite as yet.


No, I shan't look for a good brand of ghostly kitty kibble.
I'm happy that my digs are ghost mouse free.
No tiny squeaks or scurrying.



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DELICIOUS, DELICIOUS GOO

A few years ago I posted an exchange on FB that was apposite. It fit the times that we were in. To a tea. And, thanks to "your memories", it came up again.

Kent Brockman: Professor, without knowing precisely what the danger is, would you say it's time for our viewers to crack each others heads open and feast on the goo inside?
Professor: Yes I would, Kent.


That was after Covid cropped up, and before the Bible Belt and Deep South had discovered Ivermectin. Several months before a vaccine and the miraculous revelation of nanochips that tracked your every move and told Bill Gates exactly where and when you were eating chicken nuggets.

That, of course, did nothing to convince me that I was wrong in thinking of much of the country as inbred genetically defective and syphilitic brain-rotted morons.
The phrase "damn', y'all stooopid" is a near constant.
Because you are, Blanche, you are.

You voted for Trump.

Yesterday I told a kid that the reason for the egg hunt this morning is to find them all before the vampire bunnies hatch. He believed me, and I feel good about that.
His parents may have the most interesting Easter ever.


You know, I am not really vested in your silly holiday.
Have a happy boiled egg day, all of you.
Please stop farting.


And good luck dealing with your little rug rats.


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NOISY BATHING MACHINE!

A bathing machine is a wheeled hutch that is pulled out into the surf so that the elderly lady within can get her toesies wet without disrobing or being immodest. Which I know thanks to Edward Gorey, who used one such in an illustration, with a little verse underneath: "From the bathing machine came a din, As of jollication within; It was heard far and wide, And the incoming tide, Had a definite flavour of gin."

There are distinct sounds of jollificatory excesses from the building across the backyards behind my apartment. Given that my lower legs hurt like the dickens, I find myself having Victorian thoughts about that. Heathens! Misbehaviour! Inebriated sinners!

A surplus of festive beandip might nix their giddiness.


Oh lord, now they're singing!
How utterly awful!


My throbbing lower legs kept me up half the night. After a full day they're quite a pain. This is something that might be caused by calcium blockers or beta blockers. Both of which are part of the programme. I will probably mention it to my doctor at some point, after doing more research. Next visit: a Tuesday in June. Two months hence.

Under no circumstances will I talk about this with a few of my coworkers, because I have no desire whatsoever to hear more about the miraculous effects of apple-cider vinegar, magic bee honey, ginger and cayenne infusions, or pizza made with spiritually pure ingredients and good karma. Or how someone's relative in the Lombard alps lived to one hundred and nine because he avoided sugar and sweetened his hot beverages with cauliflower.

Work today was noisy. Imagine drunken old men being themselves.


I get through the work day with Tylenol and Pur Erh Tea.
I am usually wired to the tits by mid-afternoon.
That probably is a contributing factor.



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THOSE CADENCES

By the end of the decade there will be two universal languages in Chinatown: Cantonese and Mandarin. And many of us will be more or less bilingual in both. Oh, and English, of course, but who needs English when you're not on phone hold, and you're trying to purchase fancy fried snackies from Big World Grocery Store? Or at a chachanteng looking with keen interest at the Chinese menu items. Wow, salted egg French toast (鹹蛋黃西多士 'haam daan wong sai do si'). Does that go well with hot milk tea? I think today is the day that we find out!

A speaker of Mandarin, if they grasped the concept, would call it "hsien dan hwang hsi dwo shi". French toast is strictly southern, and you likely will not find it north of the passes. Unless there is a Harbour person lost somewhere in Black Dragon River. Who thinks that a fried heart attack on a plate is perfect to soften that beastly climate.

What I'm getting at, more or less, is that languages such as Chuen Waa (村話、中山閩語 'jung saan man yü'), Hakka, Hailokhong (海陸豐話), Shanghainese, Teochew, and several village versions other than Toisan are largely fading.

That does not mean that I could understand what the heck the couple near me were saying yesterday, though. It was some version of Cantonese with some mighty peculiar locutions. One word out of five intelligible.

In the last year alone, at a bakery as well as a dumpling house, I've heard people speaking multiple European languages, South East Asian languages, Hindi and Nepali, and several varieties of Chinese. Even Dutch. Plus some Scandinavian fish-daemon tongues.
Spanish, Russian, and everything Middle Eastern.

No, I've rarely spoken to them. Most of those languages are not within my skill-set. And what would I say in any case? "Hi, where are you visiting from (pretending I can't guess)? Do you like Chinese food (or just sweet 'n sour pork and eggrolls)? Are you here long (or just one day after seeing Yellow Stone, Yosemite, Las Vegas, and Los Angeles)?"
Severely strained small talk isn't part of my skill-set either.

But I do like listening in.
It's more interesting.



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WHAT ARE THESE LOONIES DOING HERE?

According to the woman who complimented me for a lovely pipe (a K&P army mount Prince of Wales, shape 401, smooth, older semi two tone finish) one must avoid fluoride because it causes diseases and attacks the glands, particularly the pineal gland. One should only drink distilled water. What I learned from this is that strange white women are likely to be crazy. Yes of course she was white.

Also something about vaccines. Darned missionary hippie.

Earlier, before lunch, I had spent an hour in a local business having something attended to. During that entire time a Cantonese gentleman with poofty hair ranted non-stop about Iran, the western powers, the American military, and the stock market. No one could get a word in edgewise, or wanted to. The proprietor and a female customer had a repetitive discussion about times and dates.

Cantonese old men can be remarkably like white women.


For true stability, common sense, and a complete absence of all batshit qualities, you need a middle-aged Dutch American bachelor. And lord only knows where to find such a person.

Trust me. They're rare. It's hard.

At the chachanteng where I went for lunch one person dining by himself was listening to Catholic church music, the early mediaeval version of rock's greatest hits, slow, ponderous, awe-inspiring. Another nearby person was having an argument with an invisible entity. An old man sitting one table away looked hunted, as if to say "what are these loonies doing here?". The real loony was outside, though: someone who took off running at high speed while talking to no one about green awning-like things and lamp-posts.

I think I've finally reached the stage where I swear in Dutch under my breath about tourists, large people, tattooed people, artistically dressed people or people with dyed hair. Plus the nut cases and eccentrics. Not loud enough to hear, though. I do not want folks to think "there's a crazy old man talking to himself". Even though I am.



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WHO IS ON THE LIST?

"It's not possible for us to take care of daycare, Medicaid, Medicare, all these individual things."




Guillotines. Guillotines. Guillotines.




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THE SHAREHOLDERS ARE HAPPY

No, I didn't watch Donald Trump's speech last night. There were better things to do. An itchy spot. Pimple. Bladder. Nails. Oh look, blinky thing! But I read about it afterward. Apparently the teleprompter told him that we have met all of our objectives, it will be over soon, and we need to rob social, educational, and medical programs to pay for it. Future generations, plus billionaires, CEOs, lobbyists, and preachers will thank us for it.

Provided the rest of the world stands up and fixes what we broke. Those ungrateful bastards.


Also, per Paula White, who is bonkers, like so many rightwing Christians, Trump is exactly like Jesus. The suffering, the heartache, the humanity!
Damn, Christians are stupid.


Let's just support the war by gutting all social and educational programs in the red states. Those blinkered hicks don't need nuttin', okay? At least until we've figured out which vampire billionaires, CEOs, lobbyists, and preachers to kill for ruining the country and running it like a country club with slaves. Not surprisingly, I have a list. Many of us have lists.
The number of lists and their length is growing.

Also mentioned in the news: Walmart chicken nuggets migh have unacceptable levels of lead contamination. Because poor folks kibble is made in substandard conditions. But that's totally okay, what's a little lead poisoning among friends in the greatest country on earth?

There is no evidence whatsoever that lead or other contaminants below fatal levels have an adverse impact on the ability of factory drooges and low level desk puppets to perform simle tasks acceptably in a fast-paced work environment. If you have any questions, save them till the next stakeholder-inspiring pizza party one slice per non-unionized employee.

By the way, HR has been outsourced to India to better serve you.
Please call the automated line. There will be a hold.


Mitch McConnell and Lindsey Graham love you.



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TRUMPTASTIC!

Florida, having already made the leap to naming an airport after our dear president, realizes it can go a lot further. Especially after grasping the magnitude and positive feedback that renaming the Trump Kennedy center received. Which was absolutely a Trumpquake.

Which is why Karoline Trumpevitt can proudly announce that it's now 'Trumplorida'. On the shores of the Gulf of Trumperica. With, as it's chief city, the Trumpami-Dade urban area, not too far from the space port, Trumpaveral or Trumpennedy, we are not sure which yet. Where sometime soon the Trumpemis will lift off, opening a new chapter into man's conquest of the Trumpoon. This is truly Trumpuge, you've never seen anything like it!

Space. It's the final frontier!
Bigger and better than ever.

Maga shivers with Trumpicipation. Or Trumpogasm.
Your choice. And their choice.
Our choice.

Here's an artist's rendering of what that will look like.
Trumpooster rockets firing Trumpastically.
With powerful Trumpusts.

Under the inspired leadership of President Donald Trump, the Trump Aeronautics and Space Administration will once more make a giant leap for mankind, but much bigger and better and more beautiful than the last. Soon the Trumpoots will march all over the lunar orb, claiming it for all time for Trumporida and the Trumpited States, and thus keeping Chinese, Iranians, and all of Latin America out. As is only fitting!


The launch was postponed today because of the weather and the foreigners and a speech that our beloved Trumpuhrer is scheduled to deliver to the benighted savages. But soon, baby, soon. For which thunderous Trumplause is expected.

After that we shall all feast on two Big Macs, two Filet-O-Fishes, and a chocolate shake.
Plus up to a dozen cans of Diet Coke. It's Trumpelicious!



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THE LETTER ENGRAVING FEE

A friend overseas, who is verbose, was preparing to celebrate the holiday while waxing in his eyes philosophical. As apparently one does. When the Iranian government is angrily lobbing missiles. Because our president is an idiot who wants a ballroom. In which to do his silly fist pumping shuffle dance. Which people in the red states go ape over.
Because disco passed them by. Entirely.

Which leads to the invention of a new German word. For every philosophical concept one must have a German word. It's the law. That is gesetzig!


Grabsteinbuchstabeneingraviertsbezahlungen.


Payment by the letter for the inscriptions on a tombstone.


Naturally I'm proposing a sliding scale. Some people deserve to be stiffed. Shan't mention which idiot in the White House I'm thinking of, but by all means let the inscribed text be long and meandering, and mention huge beautiful ballrooms several times, and maybe Epstein.
As well as disquisitioning on the beauty of Corinthian columns versus Doric.
Es muss wahrlich sehr covfefisch sein. As suits the man.
White marble, not black. Never black.
With lots of gold leaf.

And just as naturally, it should be in Florida. They love him there. They've named an airport after him, and there are plans afoot to name a space center and an amusement park after him, as well as school libraries, trailer parks, prisons, and a giant swamp. It's a huge swamp. Everyone always says they've never seen anything like it. There are alligators and pools of brackish water and mosquitoes and quicksand and everything. It's fabulous!


Golf courses too. With lots of asfalt for better traction.
It will make driving those little carts easier.
Beautiful white painted asfalt.
Nothing black.



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RABBIT RABBIT APRIL 1, 2026

Rabbit rabbit. For reasons unfathomable I am reminded of Dildo Bob (whose nickname came about because he was a pain in the dotdotdot), and his pet dog. Which had digestive issues. And gas leaks. If any dog should have been put on a yogurt and Beano diet, dotdotdot. Why some dogs like pockets of stale air is a mystery. Stay out of that corner of the drinking establishment.

Tat Yee, who is five years older than myself, was seated at his usual spot when we arrived.
I think he had been there for more than five hours, unless he had stepped out for dinner between when I passed by after late lunch. I do not advocate spending that long in a bar unless you are old, retired, and have absolutely nothing going on in your life.

Lunch had been good. Very slightly inclement weather at that time, so instead of my usual cane for clobbering random people I had an umbrella with me. Umbrellas are also useful in that regard, but not as much as a good hunk of wood. In San Francisco carrying a good hunk of wood is pro-active. Whereas those metal thingies with the four suction cup like terminations simply advertise dodder and instability.

A stout cane is a stylish accessory, and says "here is a man like that Scotsman, what's his name, Sean Connery, with whom you do not want to mess, no sir".

I have never had to clobber random people.
There are less of those than you'd think.
So the cane is definitely working.

While smoking my pipe fewer of the neighborhood familiar faces passed by, more German tourists. A surprisingly large number of folks carried pizza boxes. Nothing says rainy day comfort food than pizza, apparently. I did not know that Germans like pizza so much.
It's probably the karmic equivalent of bratwurst mit kartoflsalat.

When you're hiking the hills here you work up an appetite. Pizza is energy food. Everybody knows that. it restores the tissues. And there is no bratwurst mit kartoflsalat here anyway.
San Francisco is sadly lacking in that regard.
Es ist furchtbar schade.

I feel for them. I too have lamented the seemingly utter absence of bratwurst mit kartoflsalat, many times. It's a tragic lack. Sadly, none of the chachanteng to which I regularly go have bratwursts OR potato salad (德國香腸配薯仔沙律 'tak gwok heung cheung pui syü jai sa leut'), wich distresses me.


You can definitly get pizza in Chinatown.
Also pizza flavoured potato chips.
Imported from Hong Kong.
No bratwurst.


Rabbit rabbit.



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EVERYTHING IS DEEPFRIED

Back in 2024 many young Americans, tired of Biden, voted for Trump. Trump wouldn't get us into a forever war. Which is absolutely correct. The Iran war is, effectively, over. Trump is willing to end the war even if the Straight remains closed. It's multidimensional chess. Okay?!?

In further news, the Pope is wrong, national parks will be privatized, and the oligarch class doesn't care that you cannot afford gasoline, groceries, or healthcare.

Suffering builds character, bitches. Y'all need that.


We've won the Iran war. Repeatedly.
All objectives have been met.
Repeatedly.

Iranian women have thrown off their hijabs and are dancing in the streets. Khameini is dead. When gas goes up we profit. The Gulf Arabs are overjoyed at our brilliant manouevres. Israel is safe. Everyone has converted to Christianity. Erika Kirk is making money. Marines aren't allowed to have foreign relatives. Everything is deepfried. Hurrah. New ballroom!

Anyone who believes otherwise is just a commie.

According to Robert Kennedy Junior, Trump has "encyclopedic, molecular knowledge across a wide range of interests", and his "knowledge is so vast it’s invisible to the human eye".

That's a government official speaking. If you can't believe a government official, who can you believe? What's wrong with you?

Calling Trump a geriatric dipshit who can’t even form a coherent sentence is unfair.


Who authorized you to even think stuff like that?



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