Tag Archives: satire

Laurel and Hardy Politics

Now, you probably know that I would not ever actually watch the GOP Presidential debates.  I am not a sadomasochist looking to seriously torture my own brain, especially the logic and ethical centers of my brain.  But you cannot help but get some highlights (or more properly, low-lights) from the news.   And the most telling thing that struck me about the bits and pieces of the clown-alley massacre that is called a Republican debate, is that the comedy team of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy are re-incarnated and running for president.  Compare these two images.

454348354laurel-1hardy

Annex - Laurel & Hardy (Big Noise, The)_07

I mean, you see it, don’t you?  Rand Paul is Stan Laurel.  He has the same eyes.  The same rubbery mouth and chin.  Chris Christie is Oliver Hardy.  Notice the double chin.  The porcine eyes and pig-like smugness.  They have the same political facial tics and brain spasms.

Rand Paul is a Libertarian at heart.  That means he has no earthly idea how things work.  He would just dismantle government if he had his druthers, and he firmly believes that government should keep its hands off everything.  No foreign policy.  No protections from the predatory practices of free-market businesses.  “Leave it alone and it’ll come home,” is his philosophy.  And when he gets in trouble for his mistakes, he scratches the top of his head with one hand while he holds his hat in the other and cries.

Chris Christie is a political bully.  His bluster and bombast attacks lazy folks like public school teachers.  How dare they think they can unionize in his State and demand better wages for the hard job they are doing trying to live up to the high testing standards that he has imposed?  He is angry practically all the time.  When his revenge policies get called out by the news media, he blames others for the problem and throws a tantrum.

index

But, wait a minute.  I have seen that pattern in other places too.  The bully and the idiot!  That could be Abbott and Costello too!  Well, of course, Paul and Christie look more like Stan and Ollie.  But the debate had more than its share of “Who’s on First?” routines in it.  Maybe Bud and Lou are reincarnated too in Ted Cruz and Rick Perry.  Ted is bully enough to filibuster and shut down the government when he doesn’t get everything he wants.  And Rick Perry cannot remember three things at the same time.  And they are both from Texas.  That definitely smacks of comedy duo.

In the singular argument that made the news reports between Rand Paul and Chris Christie, they had a spat over government surveillance that had to be a comedy routine.  Rand Laurel cried that he didn’t want government wiretaps to snoop into the business of everyday Americans, though somehow he still wants to collect private data from “terrorists”.  How does he do that, precisely?  Passing a law to make all terrorists wear a bell around their neck so we know who to spy on?

And Ollie Christie came back at him that he could not be considered a patriot if he didn’t allow government spying on everybody to root out the bad apples.  Rand Laurel rebounded with an insult that pointed out that Ollie Christie committed the unforgivable Republican error of hugging Obama during the Hurricane Sandy debacle.  And Ollie Christie tossed a last word back at him with the bombastic equivalent of, “This is another fine mess you’ve gotten us into!”

I have to think about this all very carefully.  I may have been too hasty in my judgments.  Perhaps the GOP Clown College debates are something I would get numerous yuks and giggles out of.  I may have to consider actually watching the next mess.

showbiz-laurel-and-hardy

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A Letturr to the NRA

(This is satire… so, all you redneck friends of mine… don’t holler “YES!  He finally sees the light!”  Because I am being ironic, and trying to make fun of all the sensible and right-thinking things you believe, and cannot ever give up trying to make me believe also.)

rubber gun duel

Dear Mr. Wayne LaPierre,

You has done got the rite ideer about guns.  I agree whole-heartedly with all the love in my little black one-hunnert per cent ‘Merican heart that the only answer to a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a bigger ‘n better gun.  My name is Lester Winchuk, and I is a good, God-fearin’ Texas good-ol’-boy.  And I have bigger ‘n better guns.  Now, my main guvvenner, the great an’ honorable Rick Perry of the grand State of Texas (may God ever bless her little black one-hunnert per cent ‘Merican heart) has suggested on the Fox News that since some of them insane mass-shooter dudes likes to go inta movie theeatters and shoot them up some innocent people, we all otter be takin’ our beloved guns to the movies with us so we can pertekt ourselfs and the other folk too.  In fact, I like the ideer of taking my bigger ‘n better guns to the movies with me.  I jes’ might need to shoot some folks when that there Minions movie plays at the dollar movies in Laredo.

We still has three of these here dis-integrator gun thingies left from the last alien invasion of South Texas, for sale cheap!

We still has three of these here dis-integrator gun thingies left from the last alien invasion of South Texas, for sale cheap!

I does has one question, though.  How does you aim proper at the bad guy’s haid or heart in a dark ol’ movie theeatter?  Does you has to wait for a daylight scene in the movie so you can draw a proper bead on the monkey-flipper?  (I doesn’t mean to actually say monkey-flipper, but I doesn’t know how to spell whut I actually mean, and thass the best the spell-checker thingy can do for me.)  I would like to suggest a common-sense solution to this problem.  I find that if you plug two or three… or six of the folks in the dark where you heard the first dang-old gun shots coming from, you will probably get him.  And gettin’ that old perpetraitor is the main and most important thing, right?  My brother Wayne (not actually named after you, but you is welcomed to be flattered by it) says maybe you shouldn’t plug any of the littler ones in case they may be innocent children or something… but I says, well, the shooter might be a midget, right?

I does has one old idjit English teacher, Mr. Beyer, who tole me I has gots to be more careful with my beloved guns.  He seems to think that whut I thinks about guns is somewhat downright immoral or some such nonsense.  But I tells him, I is always veeery careful with my beloved, bigger ‘n better guns.  In all my years of carrying my guns everywhere I goes, even into the showers at the campgrounds we uses for our Confederate Social Club meetin’, they ain’t never gotten one ding-dang little ol’ rust spot or scratch on any of ’em.

This lettur was lovingly and carefully writ to you by,

Lester D. Winchuk, son of South Texas…

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Filed under humor, Paffooney, satire, Texas

Why You Should Shoot Yourself in the Foot Rather Than Vote for Donald Trump

I confess.   I am subject to the annoying liberal belief that if I check my facts and make properly reasonable arguments, I can save the world from all the political idiots and partisan clowns that are filling the American scene with horse poop.  Of course, I just got back home to Texas from a week-long visit to Iowa, and in both places there are people that I respect and love that feel that everything conservatives and even Tea Party Republicans say on Fox News makes sense.  How deluded can you be?  It almost makes a loony liberal communist anti-Christ like me start using the other word for poop.

political insanity  The problem, I believe, lies in the -ists and the -isms.  For example, racists and racism or anti-Zionists and anti-Zionism (words that I believe Hitler chose to describe how he felt about ants who were from Zion… or something) are -ists and -isms.  The kind of -ists and -isms that makes people from Iowa argue that the Confederate flag represents culture not hatred, even though that particular flag killed a large number of Iowans in the “Hornet’s Nest” at the Battle of Shiloh in 1862 in Missouri.  Iowa was on the Union side.  That war, by the way, was a war of rebellion by the South who wanted to be a separate nation so they could keep buying and selling people like they were pet hamsters and working them like they were mules.  (See what I mean… loony liberals let facts get in the way of all the really cool ideas?)

My children and I had a discussion of -ists and -isms at the Burger King today, because the Princess didn’t want to sit next to her brother, because… well, brothers are stinky and bother you and she would just end up being unfairly in trouble for pouring her medium soft drink over his head.  We talked about how people are prone to let prejudices control their behavior instead of using civil, loving, Christian values.  The Princess was being a seat-ist and subject to seat-ism.  And then we noted that if she hopped from seat to seat, she would be a repeat-ist seat-ist.  And if she took a real disliking to the seat, she might turn into a seat-ist beat-ist.  And if she obsessively tried to clean the seat of big-brother cooties, she was being a neat-ist seat-ist.  And we got a good laugh at the expense of seat-ists everywhere.

animal.kukuchew.com

animal.kukuchew.com

And taking Donald Trump seriously as a presidential candidate this last week is the same stupid thing.  The man opened his mouth during his announcement speech and proceeded to spew horse poop about Mexicans being rapists and drug-dealers and other criminals coming across our borders to take our stuff and rape our women and do all kinds of evil horse poop… because he was reading from a carefully researched speech foot-noted with crime statistics… or possibly because The Donald would never just speak boat-loads of horse poop hatefully off the top of his head.  (Notice I resisted the temptation to use the other word for poop three whole times!  I am a slave to political correctness and need to be called out for it.)

I learned a few things about immigration over the last decade of being an ESL teacher (English for non-English speakers).  If you come from a properly white-skinned country like, say, Finland, you have a relatively easy time immigrating to the U.S.  If you come from a brown or black country, you face a barb-wire-shrouded mine field in the form of a legal immigration process, and once you make it legally to this country, any little slip-up or typo… even those you don’t make yourself… can get you re-classified as illegal and deported.  Parents are deported away from their children.  Children get deported even though they were born in this country and speak only English.  My own Filipino wife is still not a citizen after twenty years of marriage.  And most of those “illegal immigrants” that so disturb The Donald (and Ted Cruz, and Rick Santorum, and Rick Perry. and the rest of the Republican Clown Alley) do important jobs that employers have a hard time filling otherwise.  If they are actually illegal, they pay into the system in the form of income tax and are unable to claim any benefits because they risk discovery and deportation.  Thinking these hard-working, under-loved people are all criminals is horse poop.

But enough with the horse-poop discussion.  I hate when my posts end up full of poop.  Donald Trump is the worst kind of -ist and full of the most terrible kinds of -isms.  If you shoot yourself in the foot, it will heal, at most, in a couple of months.  If you vote for Donald Trump, you may end up having to live in a horse-poop factory for four years.  Do you really like man-made horse poop?  It is a lot more toxic than the organic stuff.  (Dang!  Even loony-liberal political correctness doesn’t keep the danged poop from piling up!)

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Filed under humor, Paffooney, politics

Evil Lizard Politics

tedcruzThere are conspiracy theorists out there, like one David Icke, who will tell you the Queen of England, Hillary Clinton, and President Obama are really reptilian aliens who can shape-shift and take the form of our world leaders.  According to these “experts”, the world is secretly ruled by alien lizard-people.  Of course, these experts are filled with the most aromatic sort of logical fallacies and anti-reasonable total Texas horse-poop that it is possible to be filled with and still be a functional human bean… er, being.

Their intelligence is gathered mostly by marijuana-fueled revelations that they obtain with the same sort of spiritual clarity that led to the foundation of the Heaven’s Gate Cult, but typically result in hefty speaking fees for David Icke and friends, because they never quite drink their own Koolaid.  That doesn’t rule out lizards from controlling our politics, however.  How else do you explain Ted Cruz for President and the majority of the Republican Party?

Here is the really bad news;  If you look carefully into what politicians are doing in the world today, particularly Republican politicians in the U.S. (although they are by no means alone in this) you discover that secret agendas, alien or otherwise, are enslaving and even killing us.  Let me give you some good ol’ Texas ferinstances to choke on.

!.  Evil politicians named Rick are making sure the middle class and the poor get so screwed that all the nuts and bolts in our society are stressed to the point of breaking.  Ferinstance… I came across this eye-opening article about what Republican Governor Rick Snyder is doing to Michigan.

A Magical Mystery Tour of American Austerity Politics by Laura Gottesdiener, TomDispatch

Michigan is gutting programs for the people; reducing police forces, closing schools in favor of for-profit charter schools, and lowering environmental protection standards to the point of poisoning entire cities, all in the name of budget-balancing, while at the same time giving millions, if not billions of dollars in tax breaks to the very corporations that are causing pollution and out-sourcing jobs.  The cancer is spreading through lizard-like politicians named Rick.  Rick Scott of Florida has campaigned vigorously against the Affordable Care Act, claiming it is a looming financial disaster waiting to happen.  Of course it hasn’t happened yet.  Still, financial disaster remains a distinct possibility because Rick Scott is one of several Republican governors that refused Federal funds to set up a working health insurance exchange for those without health insurance, and then also refused to set up an exchange of his own for Florida.  It looks suspiciously like a Governor using his Goobernatorial powers to make the thing fail.  Of course, no governor named Rick can even come close to Rick Perry, former Emperor of Texas.  Perry has done all the same things as Governor Scott and Governor Snyder, but has one-upped them by leaving office with a cloud of indictments over his head for abusing his power to get revenge on employees in the justice department for being Democratic in nature.  And he doesn’t have to worry about his former empire because he left it in the scaly hands of his chosen successor and probable clone, Greg Abbot.  The creature-feature cowboy will now ignore his indictments because he appointed all the judges that could possibly try him, leaving him free to run for president.

2.  There is a big although to the Rick Perry presidency, though.  It is this.  Jeb Bush wants to be the next President of the United States.  And he will be.  There is nothing anyone can do about it.  Why do I believe it is inevitable?  His older brother, Larry the Cable Guy… er, I mean Lonesome George W. was defeated in the 2000 election by Al Gore.  He got to be president anyway.  Why?  Because Florida made the difference.  Jeb was governor of Florida before you had to be named Rick to be truly evil.  Jeb promised Florida to his brother, and when the election was called in favor of Gore, Jeb said, “Whoa now!  Let’s just take a little look-see at those results one more time.”  With the help of black voter roles being reduced wherever and whenever possible, along with suppression of the Hispanic vote, and taking a hammer to voting machines, and counting every hanging chad as unscoreable, and having Republican political operatives doing the recount, and having the Supreme Court’s conservative wing as an ace in the hole, and… well you know, he delivered on his promise.

My Republican friends think I am nuts when I say these things about Republicans.  Why do I take the word of the “liberal media” just because they document things and back them up with verifiable facts?  Republicans are not in it just to enrich their campaign-donor billionaire friends at the expense of everyone else.  Of course not.  But, just in case, I drew a Paffooney for today of what I think Ted Cruz  looks like in his alien lizard-man incarnation.  See what you think.

Senator Tedhkruzh

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The Secrets in the Vault

Today I want to direct your attention to my vault.  It is a new blog page where I keep cartoon stories that I intend to continually edit and update with new ‘toons.  It is called Mickey’s House of Fiction.  You can find it here;

Mickey’s House of Fiction

The Paffooney’s I offer today as a sample are merely the title page and introduction of a new cartoon project.

title page fantastica 2

Mickey intro 2

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Family Issues

DSCN4680There comes a time when you simply have to put things on the line to protect your family from the predations of the world at large.  I am in a struggle now over health insurance.  Health insurance companies never complain about receiving premium payments, but you have to go to war at times over claims where you try to activate the services you paid the premiums for.  I am having trouble now even though the previous insurance had no problem with paying their part for the very same services I am arguing for now.  The new insurance will not accept without a fight.  So now my Paffooney picture portrays Daddy going to war instead of Poppa coming home.  I will think hard about what is funny in this situation.  I mean to come back with a lampoon of these pirates.  That’s how you kill a whale, right?  Lampoon it with a really sharp lampoon… or was that HARpoon?  Whatever… more really bad puns to come later when I have gathered my wits and sharpened my harpoons.

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Grandpa Futty Drives Again

In Fontaine Fox’s Toonerville Trolley comics there is one old flivver-driving fool named Grandpa Futty.  He is the slowest driver on the road.  Rarely does he go over the breakneck speed of two miles per hour.  He is so overly cautious, that if there are two lanes going his way, he takes the middle of the road and effectively moseys along in his putter-banger taking up both lanes.  What is that you say, young whipper-snapper?  You don’t know what a putter-banger is?  Great galloping goat galoshes!  It’s a car, dang it!  You see them all over the metroplex.  They are so ancient that when you start it up with the hand crank, the engine coughs and the muffler falls off in back.  They were purchased as a used car two decades ago.  The only thing more miraculous than the fact that the car still runs is the fact that the old goat driving it is still alive (though the local police routinely have to stop him to check and see if his heart is actually still beating.  If it isn’t they have to fight with him about dropping him off at the nearest funeral home.)

Sadie2

So, if you haven’t guessed already, this post is about the generically named drivers I refer to as a Grampa Futty, and they are the exact opposite of the Texas Killer Grandmas I wrote about yesterday. Believe it or not, I think I have graduated into the Grandpa Futty class of driver.  I can still see more than three feet in front of my car, but I do have a dumpy-lumpy body that hobbles around with a cane, and I do smell like Ben Gay Ointment and Vick’s Vapo-rub.  (…And no, you can’t say Ben Queer Ointment and have it mean the same thing, young whipper-snapper!  That joke is nearly as old as I am!)  I am not entirely in that category of driver, though, because I still curse them with gusto and interjections like “dang it!” whenever I am behind one of that breed.  And besides, the last time the cop stopped me to check my heartbeat, it was going strong.

Grandpa Futtys are a real road hazard in the obstacle-filled world of Texas city driving… if it were a video game like Super Mario Brothers, they would not be Bowser, but rather that annoying Koopa Troopa that you just can’t bounce on hard enough to get past.  They are in the way, endearingly cute in an ugly-old-fart sort of manner, and potentially deadly as they put you in line for the easy kill by the nearest Texas Killer Granny.  So I am seriously studying now how to avoid Grandpa Futty on the road next time I see him, and I am definitely studying how not to become him.

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Crazy Old People Driving

You can probably tell that the photo Paffooney is totally staged.  I am not a good enough actor to manage the lookcrazy old driver2 of absolute blood-curdling horror that would be on my face if I were actually driving in the Dallas Metroplex.  My gray Gandalf-hair would be standing on end more, and my eyes would be more popped with horror… especially if I had really seen Suicide Sadie in her death-dealing super-WASP-rocket.  Honestly, I’m risking my life to reveal it, but one of the greatest perils of life in the suburbs in Texas is running afoul of the Texas Killer Grannies.  Yes, there is a secret, Illuminati-like organization of blue-haired old menaces driving big, expensive black battle-boats that try to kill as many other Texas drivers as they can… as well as pedestrians, cop cars, squirrels, poor-people’s children, and ceramic lawn gnomes as they can focus their myopic old granny glasses on.

To Texas Killer Grandmas, slaughtering the innocent on the roadways while your back seat is full of knitting baskets and tins of cat food is a Satanic ritual that gives them special and unnatural powers over life and death.

They all drive at least five-miles-an-hour faster than the speed at which they can actually control the vehicle.  For some of the most deadly grannies like Suicide Sadie and End-It-All Emma that is between 95 and 205 miles-per-hour, though the nearly-as-deadly Grandma McGillicuddy can be almost as guaranteed fatal at only about 35 miles an hour.  They cut in front of you without signalling, and traffic lights are interpreted far differently than normal in the presence of a Texas Killer Grandma.  Green means go.  Yellow means go faster.  And red means floor it and brace for impact.  Now, of course that is the granny interpretation of the light.  For me, green means proceed ultra-cautiously while scanning for hurtling BMW’s, Cadillacs, or Lincoln Town Cars with old ladies at the wheel and skulls painted in white on the driver’s door.  Yellow means pull over to the side of the road at a dead stop and make myself the smallest target possible.  And red means park on somebody’s lawn and wait for the intersection to become clear of all vehicles for several blocks all around.  Sidewalks are not safe either with a Texas Killer Grandma around.  You’re safer walking if you walk down the center of the road.  Of course, the more normal drivers will squish you like road-kill then, and the Texas Killer Grandma knows she was ultimately the cause of this suicidal death, so if they are close enough to see it in any sort of blurred clarity, they automatically count it as a kill.

You never see a Texas Killer Grandma charged with anything in the local media or even in court records.  They are not old ladies unconnected to persons of power.  Rich husbands, rich children, and sometimes even rich boyfriends see to it that they are never prosecuted.  They are immune to the wheels of justice.  Crazy Cat-Lady Clarice is immune to prosecution even though she doesn’t own even a nickel.  We think it is because she is so supremely skilled at vehicular homicide that even the police are afraid of her.  And how does she pay for gas in that 1965 Chevy Impala SS she drives with a blood-smeared hood and the driver’s side of the car painted completely white with skulls?

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The Quest for Pinkie Pie

The day before yesterday I wrote a post for 1000 Voices Speak for Compassion that basically tore my heart out.  It made me relive one of my worst defeats as a teacher who cares about teaching and students.  I have to admit that I spent an awful lot of time crying the past three days.  But I am not a sorrowful Sad-Sack with a sourpuss’ simpering sarcastic smile.  Not I.  I come back from downers by doing silly stuff… kinda like over-dosing on alliteration in that S-filled sentence.  So what silly stuff am I up to after a triple-down darkness-dealing downer like the one from that post? (When Compassion Fails)  I took up the Quest for Pinkie Pie.

My-Little-Pony-Friendship-is-Magic-my-little-pony-friendship-is-magic-33207334-1097-620

I borrowed the My Little Pony image above from Jessica Ann Hughes whose very eloquent post laments the series update as a sexualization of the thirty-year-old toy franchise in the newer series, My Little Pony, Friendship is Magic.

But I have to argue that it doesn’t sexualize anything beyond the surface.   After all, these ponies are really little girls that have charming little-girl personalities and act in stories that have little-to-nothing to do with sex.  Yes, I have seen the wedding episode where Twilight Sparkle’s big brother gets married, but that episode is about trusting your own instincts when something seems wrong.  If somebody like me is getting sexual vibes from that cartoon, then something is seriously wrong and that somebody should seek therapy to avoid becoming some kind of pedophile.  I mean, it is important to self-censor.  When I was getting a soda at QT this afternoon, I was happy to see two pretty girls in short pants for the first time in a long time.  6a00d8341c562c53ef01676098b1fd970bTexas weather has been rainy and dreary for the past few weeks and the sun has finally come out.  But… wait a minute!  Why am I looking at middle school girls’ legs?  I am a miserable, broken-down, spotty old man.  And I have been busily watching this My Little Pony show on YouTube where all these little girl ponies are walking around naked all the time!   But, am I not over-reacting?  Yes, the ponies have big eyes and shortened muzzles… but I haven’t been obsessing about ponies because of hormone imbalances or something.  I thought the whole Brony thing was ridiculous up until a very short time ago.  Pinkie-Pie-my-little-pony-friendship-is-magic-20424750-570-402I mean, grown men watching a cartoon about little-girl ponies and singing the songs and buying the toys and wearing ponies on T-shirts.  Is there therapy for that?  I am hoping so… because I think I’m going to need it.

My doll-collecting mental illness began, as I tried to explain and tell lies about yesterday, when I was a child who had been given dolls for birthdays and Christmas (I meant to say Action Figures… No!  Really!) and only really had sisters to play with at home (my little brother was eight years younger than me, and my friends from school lived in the country, miles away from town on farms.)

As a young man, I regained my dolls… I mean Action Figures, and tried to restore them (not play with them… I never said play with them).  When I got married, my wife and I actively began collecting them.  She was initially charmed by my love for my old pieces of plastic.  We began looking for what was out there.  Captain Action and G.I. Joes for me, Barbies for her.  When she lost interest (or found a cure for that particular mental aberration), I kept on.  The rules for collecting included; Twelve inch tall figures.  Never pay more than $20 for a toy.  Never spend more than $50 a month.  Find rare dolls for little money.  Rescue dolls who somebody once loved and played with, or that are on the verge of the ignominious end to be found in the department-store dumpster.

Rainbow Dash started me down the slippery slope to Brony-ism.  I just happened to find, on an after-Christmas clearance table at Walmart with all the other damaged toys that didn’t realistically survive the seasonal play-with-it-in-the-store-while- mommy-shops damage, a cheap and forlorn Rainbow Dash with extra hair.  She looked at me with those big, sad eyes and pleaded with me to buy her and save her from the dumpster (or the sadistic little girl that would buy and dismember her because she was just a cheap thing from Walmart).  I’m too stupid to resist.20150105_161300

Then I began examining my purchase because I didn’t really know what it was… the Brony-thing warning lights were going off somewhere in the back of my goofy-old-man head, but it took some research before I learned what Equestria Girls were and that there were six of them.  Six of them!  A set of six to collect!  But also the original ponies!  A set of twelve!

And the disease had me.

Ponie girls

So, here you see the tangible evidence that I am acutely infected.  Brony-itis?  Possibly.  Fatal?  Hopefully not.  If you’re counting, they still are not all here.  Apple Jack, Rarity, Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash as Equestria Girls.  Apple Jack, Rarity, Twilight Sparkle, Rainbow Dash, and Pinkie Pie as ponies.  But no Fluttershy at all.  And… what’s this?  No Pinkie Pie?  The most popular pony with little girls, I could not find her in Equestria Girl form?  Well, I could… but not for under $20.  I went shopping at Toys R Us yesterday with the Princess in tow.  We bought toys, but no Pinkie Pie for less than twenty one.  And this collection represents $14 in January, $30 in February, and $25 already this month.  I’m guessing the rules might save me from this disease yet.  Does that mean no Pinkie Pie ever?  Well, I watch the stupid cartoons incessantly now on YouTube… I’ve learned that Friendship is Magic and as long as you can remain true to your friends, you can overcome almost all of life’s problems… together… with love.  And Pinkie Pie is totally random… and funny… and everyone’s friend.  There are good lessons being taught to little girls and old men who watch these things.  Pinkie Pie’s is probably the most important one of all…  So Pinkie is my favorite.  I haven’t found her yet in a way that stays within the rules, but I am not some creepy old man who breaks the rules.  I have the rest of my life to complete this quest.

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Teachers Aren’t People… (Apparently)

Black Tim

If insurance companies are people in the same way the Supreme Court says that corporations are people, then they are pirates.   Not Robin Hoods of the Sea sort of pirates who take from the rich and give to the poor.  No, we are talking about the kind of pirate that latches on to the people too powerless to resist their boarding actions and wrings every last penny out of their rudely squeezed and and drained souls.  That kind of pirate.

The reason for the rant is not something I can fully discuss here.   I am in need of a mental health professional for a member of my family.   Of course, if you have read this blog, you probably have already assumed I am talking about me.  Having been a middle school English teacher the suspicion that I have let all the doves out of the loft is a pretty safe assumption.  Still, one would assume that a retired teacher with health insurance should be able to get whatever professional help he needs.  Not according to the company reps who are happy to take my monthly premium.   Previous Psychiatrist, Dr. Good, was one of the best in the city.  He understood the problem better than any other doctor we encountered, including the emergency room doctor and the behavioral hospital doctor.  But our lovely education-friendly State of Texas has to cut back spending on education.  Teachers make too much money and have too many expensive benefits.  And besides, tests clearly show that we are not doing our jobs right.  (This part is true and not merely sarcasm… of course, the tests get harder every year to prove we are doing worse by lower scores).  So, Statewide we have gone to cheaper health insurance.  Dr. Good doesn’t deal with the cheap-o company.  You can’t blame him.  They don’t pay actual money for health care because that cuts too far into profits.  So, no more Dr. Good.  And we haven’t yet found a doctor  to replace him.   Worse yet, we have been working with a therapist who is more patient and kind than we probably deserve.  He has been billing us only the co-pay and negotiating with cheap-o for the rest of his fee.  The previous insurance gladly paid for his services as he helped prevent needless trips to the hospital and helped us accomplish minor miracles.  Cheap-o  told him that even though he’s listed in-network, he isn’t really in-network  and they don’t intend to pay him for the last four months.  Damn.  I hate pirates.  They don’t treat you like a people…. more like a milk cow or something.

So, with extensive stressors in my life, and poor health getting worse, a little depression to boot… it’s gonna be all right.  God and the devil will work something out.  Since I’m still alive, I can safely say, life is good.

Black Wizard

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Filed under Paffooney, rants, satire