Caterwauling

Been arriving at work earlier than usual to try to get stuff done before phone calls. And working at night to try to get stuff done after phone calls.

It hasn’t been going well. Working on a project for a half hour here and there is pretty much the textbook definition of wasting oodles of time.

I notice things when I’m up early. There’s a neighborhood Calico who comes to my window to say hi, but only when Mom is around. (No one else.) I have food for her in my desk. (Thanks to Mom.)

We have condos next door and she looks like someone loves her. But I will never pass up an opportunity to feed anyone or anything. (Not the least of which is myself.)

One morning this week, I noticed a single purple flower on one of our bushes. It was so beautiful, I had to stop and marvel. There wasn’t another one anywhere.

I thought I should take a photo, and figured I’d do it on my next Starbucks run.

Well I went out later and saw that one of the boys had knocked it to the ground.

So much for that.

Kind of like when Mom comes in and mops and cleans the windows and the bathroom. It only takes two hours till I want to throttle someone for disturbing the perfection.

I feel like the flower is a metaphor for something. What, I have no idea. But when I get two seconds to rub together, hopefully it will start a thought fire.

I drive by a church every day that always has inspirational posts like the one in the headline.

It’s almost as good as Harry’s Banana Farm, which usually pokes fun at local politicians. Now that Shit for Brains (SFB) has gone from local yokel to “45” (since I can’t say or type his name without retching), he’s fair game.

Apparently living down here means having something to protest every weekend, since SFB insists on dragging his wife out of New York and coming here to their resort and conducting national business IN PUBLIC. Sigh.

I wish they could ship me up to D.C. for the weekend, since I’d feel safer going into it without him there.

I’m blooming, all right. Surrounded by blooming idiots where I’m planted.

New Orleans residents are cleaning up from the aftermath of tornadoes. Six Red Cross workers were killed in Northern Afghanistan. A white dude shit up a Canadian mosque. Yemen is kicking our out Special Forces after Twitler’s Benghazi. And what is that steaming pile of shit for brains #socalledpresident tweeting about?  Something called #easyd. And he’s screaming at $JWN for dropping his daughter-wife’s clothing line. Meanwhile his wife costs us $400k because she won’t live with him and SHE is suing someone because she can’t make money off her role as FLOTUS (while the White House is closed for tours since she wants to live in New York). Oh and these welfare queens are coming back to Palm Beach for another $3 million weekend AND we also footed a $100k trip for his son to do non-government business in Uruguay. Oh and the local rag says plans are ready for these fools to spend every weekend through May here, if his impeachable ass chooses. Oh and the supreme leader of Iran thanked him for all his bungles that are showing his people what self-absorbed shits we westerners really are. And the chatter in terrorist conclaves is that the Moose-Lamb ban is the best recruiting tool for ISIL sent from Allah above. And we just followed the first black president and AG with big fat fucking racists. And don’t get me started on the education secretary who will produce more generations of uninformed Trump voters. It’s like 1984 in Sourh Park because I’m Kyle screaming “shut up, Cartman!” every time this fool busts out his unsecured phone and his staff uses a private email server after he lambasted hillary for her secure email server. Oh and Elizabeth Warren was silenced by a exist prick as she tried to read a statement from MLK’s widow about new racist POS AG and basically told to sit her girl ass down on the floor. Fuck everyone who voted for this chaos and  thanks to the asshole-in-chief. Without your willful and destructive ignorance, America wouldn’t have so many reasons to learn our rights so we can fight for them. See you on the Southern Avenue bridge this weekend. I’ll only be waving at Shinzo Abe since at least I respect him. More than I’ll ever say about you. 

I have no plans to confirm or deny my whereabouts last night. All I will say is I love the men and women of Palm Beach.

Most of them, of course. Not the Post and the people who crabbed about what a shitty person Trump was until he won the election. They lick his balls now that they are afraid of being shipped off to Siberia.

(“The Siberian Candidate” would make a hell of a movie sequel, BTW.)

But in reply to those who penned missives that 200 people marched in Pittsburgh (yeah!) and disrupted your commute for 15 whole minutes … and who said we should find other charitable things to do with our time (but I didn’t see them saying anything they were doing that was worth noting) …

Let me tell you what I did on Saturday. I got my taxes done. Which means I did something your president won’t do — pay what the government determines to be my (and mom’s!) “fair share.”

Which I know is barely a drop in the bucket for the $100K gov’t-funded Eric Trump trip to Uruguay on behalf of the Trump Organization.

Or for the $3 million taxpayers are on the hook for this weekend for their president to host a Red Cross ball to benefit some of the very types of people he wants to keep out of the country. (I’m not putting it down. Just pointing out that same $3 million would have been a wonderful, needed cash donation.)

But none of it can help NYC, which is spending $2 million more a month on protecting the absent First Lady than it is on Section 8 so homeless families can have far-less-luxurious shelter. ($30M vs. $28M.)

In any event, I paid my taxes … bagged up clothes to give to charity … spared my last buck for a person in need because I am lucky enough to (God willing) have another paycheck arriving on Thursday … and fed no fewer than 30 homeless animals, which mom and I do nearly every night.

Fighting fascism and fake news is what I do in what’s left of my free time.

And I didn’t even insult the Australia PM, or tweet about a “so-called judge,” or tell Bill O’Reilly that we are just as evil as Russia.

So BY ALL MEANS, armchair critics, what did YOU do yesterday?

Just having some fun with a few thousand floridians before today’s big event. 

We were asked to share our sign ideas. I’m sure you can see mine in there …

Lost amid (rightful) travel-ban outrage (how about Saudi Arabia, tangerine jackass? oh wait you profit from it) … and DeVos and Tillerson being snuck through … and the LGBT-attacking trial balloon … and the nationalist missive aimed at the FOMC … and all the other shit that provokes any sane person’s righteous indignation …

Is the popular vote loser’s personal Benghazi in Yemen and his blonde Medusa’s made-up terror attack on Bowling Green.

HELLO ALT-UNIVERSE, PEOPLE.

I don’t care about any good that motherfucker might do. He’s going to destroy us from the inside-out. Or desensitize us. And I don’t know which is worse.

In any event.

I had a personal Festivus this week. Like there are two people who often work my nerves, and I was totally Team Them this week. Not just because everybody else (the entire WFH set) pissed me off, but because I really admired things they said and did.

And it doesn’t hurt that I learned one voted just like I did. That might help me to forgive A LOT in the future.

Well it’s really my back after getting it stabbed before someone threw a whole bunch of us under the bus.

Accept responsibility for your goof. Seriously. Whether it impressed the one you clearly needed it to impress, well, who knows.

I love people who say, “Yeah I own that.”

I am feeling zero love right now.

Seriously, the missives blaming everyone but your own impatience, and telling everyone else to be cognizant of their own supposed failings, isn’t going to convince anyone else to step up and give up their nights and weekends.

I’ve been waiting years to say that.

Watching that Salmon Stalin attack the press today, after President Obama’s lyrical farewell last night — amid reports that the PEEOTUS (heh) paid Russian prostitutes to piss on his orange oppressor ass — killed me. KILLED ME. 

He’s like facing your captor or rapist or shitty ex boss after you’ve escaped and started NOT twitching and bursting into tears every time you see a shadow that isn’t yours. 

Pathetic Pumpkin Patriarch. Guava Gorbachev piece of shit. Yellow Yeltsin. Peach Plutarch. Apricot Autarch. Twitler son of a bitch. 

Where was I? 

I remember being appalled at my dumbass friends who hated Obama who posted terrible shit about him. I thought, who could have that much hatred in their heart to risk professional ruin with what they said?

I get it now. As I wear my snake pin with the “don’t touch my pussy” admonishment. Like I did today. God I get it. 

There’s a snowball’s chance that we could get Colin Powell elected on Jan. 6. No more Tangerine Twat-grabber. It can happen. 

I won’t hold my breath. But it would be nice to refer to the past two months as that time America went temporarily insane. 

There’s an organic food place I visit two or three times a week. 

They advertised for Christmas dinners. Ham or turkey. Caprese or Brie en croute. Root veggies and bourbon pecan pie. Order now for Saturday pickup. 

So I ordered … and was told they can’t help me because I only need two meals. 10 minimum. Didn’t you read the sign?

Then they emailed again. Ok we will sell you five meals. Deal?

Dude. I did not shit out three kids overnight. 

Great to know that a family of five is more important than me trying to perk up our sad little Christmas with a special meal. 

So basically, a longtime regular customer spending $40 for two meals isn’t important. The way to make me feel better is to charge me $100. 

Welcome to Trump’s America, folks. 

(Also, fuck the electors who voted for him. Double-fuck the Hillary defectors. I was rooting for Kasich or McCain anyway, but Jesus the electors ex-Supran are as dumb as the people they represent. )

In any event, my money spends just fine anywhere I take it. I’m just pissed that now I have to come up with a new plan instead of a place I like and trust. And sad that I could be referring to either a restaurant or a country I’ve lost faith in.