![]() Hey, hey…so, we’ve made it to Friday without any serious injuries or heartaches. BTW, if you have suffered a serious injury or heartache kindly keep to it yourself so as not to bring the rest of us down. Haha, just kidding, ALL of us want to hear about your injury or heartache, don’t we? Hello? ALL of us? Okay, so in a weird…no, weird isn’t strong enough…in a bizarre occurrence yesterday, guess who called me…go on, guess. Nope it wasn’t The Trump, he dumped me as his go-to advisor (don’t you people read this blog?). It was the friggin’ Somali Pirates calling from Somalia to hijack my phone! I’m NOT kidding. It was the first time in I don’t remember when that they’ve called. Seriously, I haven’t heard from them in a while and then I mentioned them in yesterday’s posting and suddenly they’re dialing for dollars again. Somali Pirates read this dumb blog? WTF? Savages! After the attempt at boarding by Somali Pirates, we locked down The Compound yesterday and I put Cousin Fred up on the roof of The Cab as a lookout. I tell you, you can’t move anywhere nowadays that people can’t track you down. Stupid GPS. And things are beginning to close in on me here. Apparently, ABLE (Oklahoma liquor cops) reads this blog also. They arrived yesterday mid-morning and set up roadblocks at the county road intersections on either side of us. Guess they read that Mr. Kim will soon arrive with a batch of his fortified Korean plum wine hooch to dispense during the Clustering of Gigolos Music Festival. So, how come no one that could syndicate this blog ever reads it? Cousin Fred told me not to worry and laid out a plan his plan for getting the fortified hooch onto the grounds here. The Compound is conveniently located in the middle of the section line between the two roadblocks. We’ll have Mr. Kim come through the pasture across the road. There’s a gate directly across from the entrance to The Compound. Problem solved. At any rate, we’re not altogether certain when Mr. Kim is coming so those guys (ABLE) may be out there awhile. I’ll drop off a couple of boxes of donuts to each roadblock this morning. That always makes them happy. The Trump’s White House yesterday evening hosted its annual outdoor “Congressional Picnic” fête. Members of Congress (friendly to the administration) and their families were invited. Members of the media were herded off to the side and corralled in what they called the media pen. Seriously, they put the media in a roped off area where they take all the pictures and shout out questions that they want. Finally, after some time, the rabid reporters were starving for food, drink, and attention, at which point Spicey himself showed up with box of wine and warm beer to pass out. He didn’t enter the media pen, thereby soiling himself and becoming one with the unwashed horde behind the rope. He instead handed the box of tepid refreshments over the ropes and then stepped back as reporters and photographers began fighting over the offering. Spicey had apparently only given them 0.25 servings per person. Mayhem ensued, much to the amusement of picnic guests, though there wasn’t anyone left to cover it. Surprisingly, there were a few Dems in the crowd, though not many. Anybody who was anybody (Democrat-wise) was over on the other side of town plotting the overthrow of Nancy Pelosi. Pelosi in the meantime was trying her best to sneak past the guards at the White House gates and crash the party. Ah, the Washington social calendar is in full bloom…smell the rancid odor of mediocrity, self-importance, and overused portable toilets. That is all! Comments are closed.
|
Archives
March 2019
Categories |