Tag Archives: covid-19

Biden for President

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Pulling punches while Donald Trump attempts to renew his dictatorial reign over the country is no longer an option. It’s time to punch back with a flurry of lefts, rights, and uppercuts until the weasel in the White House is not only defeated but down for the count. A little more than a year ago, the media stopped using words like “Fabrication” and “Mendacious” when describing Donald Trump’s latest dishonest rant. After a long wait, pundits finally began to announce, “The President is a pathological liar,” and “The President lies every time he opens his mouth.” I would add that whenever the Grifter-in-Chief’s lips are moving, he is not only lying, his mouth sounds like it is falling down a flight of stairs. Not long ago, I was having a little chinwag with my neighbor at a safe distance when he said, “Every politician lies.”

“Yes, but that’s too easy,” I replied. “Twenty thousand lies over a span of three and a half years should be in the Guinness Book of World Records.”

“All politicians are the same,” he added with a thin-lipped smirk.

Whenever I hear someone say “all politicians are the same,” a cartoon balloon appears above my head. “I wish I was holding a flounder right now,” the words in the balloon spell out. “Then, I could whack you across your dentures with a walleyed fish, you blathering nimrod.” Of course, I let the words in the balloon fade away and offer the blathering nimrod something plausible like, “Franklin Delano Roosevelt and Adolph Hitler were both politicians. I don’t think they were the same.” Anyway, before I could turn tail, my obtuse neighbor mentioned that he and his wife were having friends over for dinner.

“That isn’t a good idea,” I said with a concerned look. “We’re in the middle of a pandemic.”

“We’re not all paranoid about the virus,” he replied. “You know? Masks and all that stuff.”

“You call it paranoia,” I offered. “I call it being responsible and smart.”

Clearly irritated with my retort and wearing a furrowed brow, he said, “Our friends are just like us.” Once again, the cartoon balloon appeared above my head. This time, instead of the fish across the false teeth routine, the words hovering above my head spelled out, “So, you say your guests for dinner are just like you? Stupid? Thoughtless? Dimwitted?” Once more, the words above my head faded, but this time I didn’t say anything. I just recalled Mark Twain’s adage: “No amount of evidence will persuade an idiot.” In the end, my little tête-à-tête with my neighbor ended with a simultaneous shrug. Doubtless, he’ll never read this piece. Just like Donald Trump, he probably hasn’t cracked a book or read an article since … well, forever. All the same, considering his behavior is reckless and irresponsible and not only puts his life in peril, but the lives of good and decent people who wear masks and maintain proper social distancing, I could give a rat’s ass if he does. One thing he will read every time he drives up to his house is the sign I just put on my front lawn: BIDEN FOR PRESIDENT.

 

No Amount of Evidence

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Pulling punches while Donald Trump attempts to renew his dictatorial reign over the country is no longer an option. It’s time to punch back with a flurry of lefts, rights, and uppercuts until the weasel in the White House is not only defeated but down for the count. A little more than a year ago, the media stopped using words like “Fabrication” and “Mendacious” when describing Donald Trump’s latest dishonest rant. After a long wait, pundits finally began to announce, “The President is a pathological liar,” and “The President lies every time he opens his mouth.” I would add that whenever the Grifter-in-Chief’s lips are moving, he is not only lying, his mouth sounds like it is falling down a flight of stairs. Not long ago, I was having a little chinwag with my neighbor at a safe distance when he said, “Every politician lies.”

“Yes, but that’s too easy,” I replied. “Twenty thousand lies over a span of three and a half years should be in the Guinness Book of World Records.”

“All politicians are the same,” he added with a thin-lipped smirk.

Whenever I hear someone say “all politicians are the same,” a cartoon balloon appears above my head. “I wish I was holding a flounder right now,” the words in the balloon spell out. “Then, I could whack you across your dentures with a walleyed fish, you blathering nimrod.” Of course, I let the words in the balloon fade away and offer the blathering nimrod something plausible like, “Franklin Delano Roosevelt and Adolph Hitler were both politicians. I don’t think they were the same.” Anyway, before I could turn tail, my obtuse neighbor mentioned that he and his wife were having friends over for dinner.

“That isn’t a good idea,” I said with a concerned look. “We’re in the middle of a pandemic.”

“We’re not all paranoid about the virus,” he replied. “You know? Masks and all that stuff.”

“You call it paranoia,” I offered. “I call it being responsible and smart.”

Clearly irritated with my retort and wearing a furrowed brow, he said, “Our friends are just like us.” Once again, the cartoon balloon appeared above my head. This time, instead of the fish across the false teeth routine, the words hovering above my head spelled out, “So, you say your guests for dinner are just like you? Stupid? Thoughtless? Dimwitted?” Once more, the words above my head faded, but this time I didn’t say anything. I just recalled Mark Twain’s adage: “No amount of evidence will persuade an idiot.” In the end, my little tête-à-tête with my neighbor ended with a simultaneous shrug. Doubtless, he’ll never read this piece. Just like Donald Trump, he probably hasn’t cracked a book or read an article since … well, forever. All the same, considering his behavior is reckless and irresponsible and not only puts his life in peril, but the lives of good and decent people who wear masks and maintain proper social distancing, I could give a rat’s ass if he does. One thing he will read every time he drives up to his house is the sign I just put on my front lawn: BIDEN FOR PRESIDENT.

 

Disney to Reopen

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Florida’s premier amusement park, Disneyworld, reopened this week featuring a brand-new attraction: “The Peterpandemic Haunted House.” Before entering the chilling ride, patrons are asked to sign a waiver absolving Disneyworld of any wrongdoing in the event they drop dead, two weeks later. Florida’s Mickey Mouse Governor, Ron “Goofy” DeSantis, plans to be the first person in line to ride the new attraction.

Deadly Viral Tsunami

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Although Covid 19 may resemble a science fiction screenplay by Stephen King, starring Tom Cruise and Sandra Bullock, our fragile planet is, in fact, experiencing a deadly viral tsunami; the likes of which the world has never known. While the unchecked Coronavirus cuts a dizzying swathe across the Blue Speck, Americans must also deal with the orange scourge occupying the Oval Office. At the worst possible moment in our nation’s history, we are strapped with a Head of State ranking alongside tyrants like Benito Mussolini and Idi Amin. From the temporary President’s first one-hundred days to his last one-hundred days, the bloated jackass, Donald John Trump, ravaged the constitution, fueled divisiveness, and trampled upon the rule of law. Now, good and decent Americans have the opportunity to give the swollen goon a swift kick in the wazoo and send him packing. But in order to rid the country of our national disgrace, we the people must get out the vote. Voting our conscience is the perfect path to redemption. Then, the horror of the past four years will come to an end and America can begin the healing process. At last, we’ll wash away the lawlessness, anarchy, and chaos stemming from the current administration and once again breathe free. At that juncture, the deplorable racists who supported the hideous criminal in the White House can crawl back into the ratholes from which they came. Soon after, everyone around the globe will switch on their big screen TVs and watch the most successful grifter in modern history being led away in handcuffs; doubtless, with toilet paper stuck to his shoe and his bad comb-over flapping in the breeze

Choice

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Shortly before hurricane Andrew wreaked havoc on Southern Florida, I was lying on the sofa in my aunt Filippa’s house in Delray Beach with the air conditioner cranked up to Penguin House. Aunt Filippa and Uncle Louie were letting me cool my heals in their comfortable snow-bird home, before I hopped in my Beetle and slid down to Key West. In the southernmost city of Florida, I was bringing the gift of laughter to my fellow earthlings; a sensational room in a swanky hotel I’d headlined several times. It was also the jumping off point for a month in Puerto Rico and the Grand Cayman Islands. (Working in the Caribbean was a dirty job, but someone had to do it.)

A few minutes before I was stretched out on the sofa, I was standing in the driveway with my aunt and uncle who driving back to Brooklyn with a trunk loaded with oranges and grapefruits for their neighbors in East Flatbush.

“I know it’s a long shot,” Uncle Louie said hanging his head out the car window. “But if you get lucky, make sure the neighbors get an eyeful. The frosties around here could use a little excitement.”

Uncle Louie was a handsome devil in his mid-sixties, tall with jet black hair and horn-rimmed glasses. I called him Superman. A throwback from when I was a kid, because he was the spitting image of Clark Kent. Louie loved to call to his fellow Floridians “Frosties,” because they were either bald or graying on top. We were running errands a week earlier when Louie spied an elderly woman in the car ahead of us. “Holy crap,” he said while we were sitting at a red light. “There’s a giant cotton ball with two arms driving a Lincoln.” I attribute a portion of my wacky sense of humor to Uncle Louie; although, I’m certain he’d readily deny it.

After Aunt Filippa and Uncle Louie pulled out of the driveway, I got comfortable on the sofa with a bag of Doritos propped up between my legs, the remote control in one hand and a cold beer in the other. While I was sipping, snacking, and surfing, I dropped anchor on a local talk show. The moment I logged on, a woman with dark eyes looked directly into the camera and said, “For the first time in my life, I understood that we always have a choice.” I think she’d lost a boatload of weight and followed her dream of becoming a mermaid at Weekewaachie, but I can’t be certain; anyway, that’s not important; what is important was she grasped the power of choice; something she had never seriously contemplated and neither had I.

When I switched off the television, I could still see her face and hear her voice announcing, “For the first time in my life, I understood that we always have a choice.” It was a simple statement that went straight to my heart. I found myself repeating it again and again. At that moment, I began to think about the power of choice and how I might apply it to my life. Could I choose to be healthier, wealthier, more compassionate, more loving? The more “choice questions” I asked, the more “yes answers” I received.

“We always have a choice,” I suddenly said aloud. “We always have a choice.”

It sounds simple, I admit, but it was something of an awakening, a bright moment the likes of which Ebenezer Scrooge experienced when he awoke on Christmas morning. I got it. Recurring messages orchestrating a positive attitude; a sequence of reminders prompting choices spoken aloud; memoranda driving the right choice home at the right time.

The woman on the talk show got it. She understood that controlling her choices from one moment to another was key to achieving her goals. Attending to her own sound advice was highly effective. She determined that if she was going to change, she had to recall the moment of truth on demand, out loud. Smart pledges announcing that the power of choice is always there for the asking. In effect, by allowing myself to repeat choice words at will, I could choose to accept love and give love unconditionally. In doing so, I accepted a stream of consciousness that made my choices honest, authentic, and sincere.