Dear Senator McCaskill

Dear Senator McCaskill:

Please provide us with a booklet of tables to inform us which topics are off-limits to us based upon age, gender, ethnicity, nationality, religion, political positions, economic class, or any other parameter used to classify us.

Thanks In Advance,

Everyone Who Is Not You

PS: It’s not because she’s a woman that I’m not voting for the one whose forearm is up your ass.

Only if I were conducting an economic coup would I adopt as my business strategy the model of “first we throw you all out of work, then we sell you lots and lots of stuff for a really long time”.

Pundits say Hillary won the debate, but focus groups and online polls show Bernie in the top spot by a wide margin. How disappointingly predictable.

I’m so boring that even I find myself uninteresting lately. But enough about me.

The 21st is the International Day Of The Nacho, and this time around I’m giving you all enough warning that you’ve almost no excuse for missing it. Plug the date into that damned smart phone, friend! That way when I post about the International Day Of The Nacho next year you can tell me to stop repeating myself all the time.

Bernie Or Bust

There’s a Bernie Or Bust campaign going, and I hope you’ll consider signing a Bernie Or Bust pledge stating that your vote will be for Bernie even if he doesn’t secure the nomination of the Democratic Party. The intent of it isn’t to hold your feet to the fire, but to hold the feet of the DNC to the fire. Personally, if Bernie’s not the nominee I’m not going to vote at all.

If Bernie is the candidate and selects John Conyers as his running mate, I’ll vote twice. :D

Turn To Stone

Joe recorded that (the second) version of Turn To Stone on his So What album 41 years ago, in 1974. I bought it a few days after its release and still have my copy. On vinyl, of course — the only saving grace of 8-track tape was portability, and the audio quality of cassette tapes in those days was so poor that no label released albums on cassette. That meant that listening to your own music in the car meant enduring ka-chunk! on every track change, and quite often in the middle of a song, too.

I had a portable 8-track player in ’74, though they were relatively rare things, and that made me the life of the impromptu party everywhere I went. Puff puff ka-chunk! :D

No, not really. I didn’t have a marijuana habit in ’74. I’d tried it, but had foolishly got way too fucked up to enjoy the experience. It wasn’t until ’76 that I tried again and didn’t hate it.