The planet is possibly doomed, definitely doomed if the Pumpkinhead President comes back into power. I am hoping that voters are smart enough not to give Don Cheetoh Trumpoloney a second term. But we have to face the fact that a large number of voters are conditioned by Fox News and Republican lies about how they will benefit by letting the oligarchs of American corporatocracy rob them blind laughing all the way to the poorhouse and… eventually the grave. While the lying fatcats and polluters move to Mars or underground bunkers with their ill-gotten gold.
I know that the odds have turned in our favor, the smarter folks, I mean, since Vice President Kamala Harris took over the campaign and blew up Democratic enthusiasm. Of course, the damage done since the Reagan Administration to our fragile environment may kill us all still. It still has to be reversed.
It is a time for gallows humor. I may not survive until the election. My fourth urinary tract infection this year nearly got me late Friday night. Do you realize that if you lose the ability to pee, your eyeballs fill up with yellow liquid and you will die of toxic shock, uremic poisoning, or sepsis in terrible ways they never tell you about in the cartoons where Huckleberry Hound’s eyeballs fill up with pee. I would end up de-lifed and not laughing, more like Jim Henson than Huckleberry Hound.
My sister Mary underwent chemotherapy on Wednesday. She is feeling miserable today. The doctors told her that she would be miserable until two-and-a-half weeks were up. And then when she gets to the three-week mark, she has to do it again. Every three weeks until the day before Thanksgiving. And then, when that last chemo is done taking all the laughter out of life, she will get the surgery that should rid her completely of the cancer. My sister, at least, gets the last laugh out of that one.
Truly, we have to keep laughing. We don’t give up. Every day is a fight for life. We must keep fighting and laughing, not go gentle into that good night… to paraphrase the Irish poet Dylan Thomas.
Oh, yeah, he said, “Rage! Rage against the dying of the light.” But I don’t rage. I laugh. Tragedy plus time… lots of time… equals comedy.
Catch a Falling Star 