Salmagundi of Elite Douchebags and a Wonder Woman Poem

I praise Stacey Abrams.
Oh yes I do-ooh.
I heart you Stacey.
You turned Georgia Blue-ooh.
You keep winning. You do.
Oh Stacey you do YOU.
Selah.

Tomorrow is Right Wing Protest Day. And the media is whipping up excitement.  I think I will have an orgasm of schadenfreude watching Corpos and Republicans and Right Wingers suffer. Galations 6:7. 

Trump tormented Raffensberger into anxious desperation. What do anxious tormented Republicans like Raffy do when anxious and tormented into a corner? Their last desperate stand? They tell the truth. Their 'mace' becomes fact. 

And now as the gunnies and trumpistas gather tomorrow, as they threaten civil war, stupide Kochs are going 'Gee maybe we made a mistake.' I do not know whether to laugh or cry.

Rebel Josh Hawley is an over educated underspanked elite douchebag. I was going "Hawley who?" So I listened to a tape of him talking about his 'rebellion.' He is going to challenge my State's election results. I know how our system works in PA and Philly. I vote here. I want to rip his tits off.

I am going to contrast and compare the state of DC infrastructure after a 'protest' by right wingers. I am really looking forward to this. What is the popo going to do? Is TrumpUS going to call out the teargas, rubber bullets, a general and a bible during the festivities? Is a teen Jesusgunner with a big gun going to shoot a proudboy for us? 

I have been so frightened. I am beyond that now. I am LMAO. Helter Skelter Bunky. Has Manson been right all along? aardunza has kindly added to our playlist. You have a song you think appropriate? The comments are yours, Cher. 

Goodbye 2020

salmagundi
noun
sal · ma · gun · di | \ ˌSal-ma-ˈgen-dē\

1: a salad plate of chopped meats, anchovies, eggs, and vegetables arranged in rows for contrast and dressed with a salad dressing

2: a heterogeneous mixture : POTPOURRI

/Bigotry - subheading Racism/ is like owning a big dog. We shall call the dog ICK.

I have no problem with your ICK as long as you (global not personal you) keep it at home or on a leash. Nurture your ICK. Cuddle it to your heart's content. Feed it beer and jerky in front of the TV. Be as ICKY as you like.

When you take ICK out in public, and ICK bites me or defecates on my lawn or hurts children, you make your ICK my and the public's problem. And we must and do have appropriate remedies for that. This is a sign that appeared in minority neighborhoods in 2016.

I am frightened. We are close enough to the edge of the cliff that I can see a bit over it. I try not to shove people into groups so forcefully they cannot and do not exist as individuals. That is a Sin, if Sin can be said to exist. I want to give up, and want others to give up, doing politics as a team sport. I will take ideas how we can do that.

It is only in my lifetime that Women can have a bank account and a mortgage without permission from a Father or Husband. It is only in my lifetime I can walk down the street holding hands with a Black friend and not be noticed at all. It is only in my lifetime that a Black entertainer can stay overnight at a hotel s/he is working at. We can be back there in 1959 in an instant.

Last but not least, we need some Dirt. See photo below. I see two balls. Where is the penis? That is some severe tucking. I think I know how the works is tucked, but I hesitate to elaborate. Let me just say Spanx and folds. I do not care if I am fat shaming. I am a tolerant Liberal. That means I even tolerate my nasty self. 

"We ought to leave this world behind." - Dary from Letterkenny

Merry Christmas Cat

cat haiku

You never feed me.  Perhaps I'll sleep on your face.  That will sure show you. You must scratch me there!  Yes, above my tail!  Behold, elevator butt. The rule for today:  Touch my tail, I shred your hand.  New rule tomorrow. In deep sleep hear sound  cat vomit hairball somewhere  will find in morning. Grace personified.  I leap into the window.  I meant to do that. Blur of motion, then --  silence, me, a paper bag.  What is so funny? The mighty hunter  Returns with gifts of plump birds --  your foot just squashed one. You're always typing.  Well, let's see you ignore my  sitting on your hands. My small cardboard box.  You cannot see me if I  can just hide my head. Terrible battle.  I fought for hours. Come and see!  What's a 'term paper?' Small brave carnivores  Kill pine cones and mosquitoes,  Fear vacuum cleaner I want to be close  to you. Can I fit my head  inside your armpit? Wanna go outside.  Oh, poop! Help! I got outside!  Let me back inside! Oh no! Big One  has been trapped by newspaper!  Cat to the rescue! Humans are so strange.  Mine lies still in bed, then screams;  My claws are not that sharp.

mail welcome: admin @ strangeplaces.net

I finally got this poem right. Merry Christmas to me and thee.

A Bitty Ditty for Marilyn

Fornicate! Fornicate!

Who gave us this SEX so great?

It's God.

As I do the in and out,

I have oft been known to shout:

Oh God!
Amen.

And here is a Christmas poem for your enjoyment
by Anonymous .

Twelve Days of Christmas

On the 12th day of Christmas, my Rupert gave to Me:

12 dullards droning
11 ranters ranting
10 bores-a-boring
9 baggers bragging
8 hawks-a-hawking
7 spinners spinning
6 geezers greying
5 Ben-gha-zis
4 Blondes with Thongs
3 Freedom Fowl
2 Phony Facts
and a pervert named Bill O' Reilly.