It is that time of year again when a disgusting holiday food item appears. It joins the list of disgusting things like Pumpkin Spice and Candy Corn.
The disgusting Easter treats are Peeps, those neon-colored chicks or bunnies. They are popular with children. They look tempting but are just as disgusting as Candy Corn. It is claimed they are almost indestructible. Supposedly the eyes are indestructible.
When my daughter was in first or second grade, she was going to a play date around Easter. She said they were going to assassinate Peeps. You put them in the microwave and “assassinate” them. It is about all they are good for.
Peeps are made with sugar, corn syrup, gelatin, and dyes. Peeps were originally produced by Just Born, a candy manufacturer in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. Other candy companies make similar confections. They are all horrible.
Peeps have only one use, decorative. They have no flavor except sugar. The texture is anywhere from chewy to sandy, depending on their age. Like candy corn, I cannot fathom why something with no flavor is so popular. Maybe people’s imaginations run wild, thinking they taste something other than pure sugar.
Easter will be celebrated next week by sects of Ukraine Catholics and the Ukraine Orthodox Church(s) in Ukraine. Bogged down in an unprovoked invasion with death, destruction, displacement, war crimes, and genocide, it is difficult to comprehend how Ukrainians can celebrate the joy of Christ’s Resurrection.
The Ukraine people are suffering and fighting a relentless, heartless, soulless enemy. Worse, their president must literally beg the supposed free world for weaponry to fight to save his nation and the lives of his people.
While celebrating Easter, if you are a believer, pray for Ukraine. There will be no joy for them this year.
I was in a saloon Saturday watching the Cubs and White Sox games. Other televisions had the Masters Tournament on. Who in their right mind watches golf on television, especially in a saloon? Golf is the most boring sport in the world next to curling. It is the equivalent of watching paint dry or waiting for a fly to die on someone’s face.
People who watch golf live dull, meaningless, and worthless lives. Avid golfers are psychotic. Maybe someone could come up with a conversion therapy for those poor souls.
Golf courses are a massive waste of valuable real estate and create environmental problems with all the chemicals needed to keep all that useless grass green and healthy. Some years back, a study linked certain cancers to people who lived next to golf courses due to the chemicals.
Golf courses use copious amounts of water to keep the grass growing. What a waste of a precious resource. Then, there is the maintenance, mowing, raking, etc. Another waste of time. Golf is a wasteful sport with no redeeming social value.
This brings me to a modest proposal. We have a severe problem with homelessness in Chicago. City Hall would rather we overlook the homeless camps, people living on the El or in the El stations, the underground Wacker and Michigan Avenues, or other places. They pretend the homeless do not exist. They would rather the homeless stay invisible.
No one in this city of political and social service dullards can come up with a solution to mitigate homelessness. They are not even trying. They cater to the two-wheeled bicycle terrorists and rental bike, and scooter corporations. Our local news media treats the homeless population as if they did not exist. They are the spokes weasels for the city, hyping whatever the city tells them to and ignoring real issues.
George Carlin came up with the perfect solution to homelessness. (Video below) Turn golf courses into housing for the homeless. Golf courses are a waste of property for people who dress funny to hit little white balls around the grass. Nine Chicago golf courses can be legally turned into communities to temporarily house the homeless, assist them, and transition people to employment and permanent housing.
Small to medium manufactured homes could be inexpensively built, including social service, centers, educational, job training, medical clinics, dining, and recreation facilities. The homeless can be sheltered, assisted with whatever problems they are suffering from, seek employment, and eventually transition to their own housing. The city could even offer training programs to transition people to city employment. City Hall could partner with other experienced providers like The Salvation Army.
Some of the acreages of the courses could be turned into organic farms and greenhouses to grow food for the inhabitants and sell at onsite farmer’s markets.
Chicago Park District golf courses could be easily transferred to the city. Privately owned golf courses could be taken through eminent domain. They would be considered blight- useless waste of property and ecologically unsound. There is probably a way to get state and federal funding for such an undertaking.
Converting golf courses to communities to assist and transition the homeless is a way better and more humane use of those green wastelands. There would still be a few city courses left, as the land cannot be built on for esthetic or legal reasons. Golfers also can go to the burbs to play with their little balls.
If Chicago is to be a humane and compassionate city, turning useless golf courses into housing, social services, job training, and transitioning centers is the best use of those properties. The NIMBYs will protest and cry foul. No one should care what they think. They are not coming up with simple solutions to issues. Screw them.
Carlin was ahead of his time and right. Hey, mayor Lightfoot, get on board and grab all that real estate to assist the homeless. Chicago does not need golf. Homeless people need help. It is a simple, elegant solution.
Here is a list of the golf courses that could and should be converted to assist the homeless:
“Find a writer who has something American to say, and nine times out of ten you will find he has some connection with the Gargantuan abattoir by Lake Michigan- he was bred there, or got his start there, or passed through there when he was young and tender.” (Henry L. Mencken/American Mercury 1933)
Mike Royko had something to say, a lot to say. Finding a writer with something American to say is harder and harder these days. Journalists or columnists who know the streets, saloons, alleys, Els, working stiffs and the real people who make this city great are rare. Finding one who can talk like and appeal to them is even rarer. Oh, there are a few still out there, still barely hanging on. But for how long?
In 1963 the Chicago Daily News gave a gawky goofy looking guy a column of his own. That guy went on to enrage, enlighten, and entertain Chicago for over 30 years. That guy was Mike Royko. There is a petition on Change.org to erect a statue of Mike Royko. “Chicago, the greatest city, deserves a statue of Mike Royko, its greatest columnist.”
The Chicago School of Journalism started its slow death on April 29th, 1997, when Mike Royko died. All that is left is to give Chicago journalism the last rights, drive a stake through its heart, and cremate it.
Royko was the best columnist in the country when he was alive. He was the preeminent chronicler of Chicago, its politics, people, and the Chicago way. Any and every topic was fodder for a Royko column. A former colleague and friend was the subject of one of his columns. (Subscription may be required.) No one did it better at the time.
“Dijareadroyko” was on the lips of many Chicagoans daily. On public trans, in the workplace, on the street, in the diners and bars, and whispered in City Hall. No matter how big or powerful, he could and would sting you. No matter how low or insignificant, he could champion your cause.
Like our mayors, politicians, and bureaucrats, Royko was a guy people loved to hate and hated to love. He could make you laugh, cry, or get angry, sometimes in the same column.
Royko, like most Chicago artists, was prodigious. Royko wrote a column five days a week for over thirty years. His columns were syndicated in more than 600 newspapers. He wrote over 7500 columns. He also wrote a column for Reader’s Digest called “That’s Outrageous.”
He started his column with the Daily News. When that paper folded, he went to the Chicago Sun-Times. He eventually landed at the Chicago Tribune, a paper he said he would never work for. He left the Times because it was bought by someone he thought was odious.
Royko was fearless. He did not care about the powers that be or being “offensive,” whatever that means. Being offended is a personal choice. Others are not responsible for the choices people make. Mike Royko was human, which means he was not perfect. As the Son of the Great of the Great Comedian once said, “Let he who is perfect cast the first brick.”
Mike Royko was a son of Chicago. Many thought he was a son of a something else. He was born, raised, and lived his life here until he moved to the leafy suburbs, where people go to wait to die.
Aside from his political columns, Mike Royko was a champion of the little guy, the oppressed, the victims of the Chicago way, the blue-collar ethnic working-class, and the poor. He gave people who had no say a voice.
Royko’s good friend Studs Terkel summed up his legacy:
“He was possessed by a demon. How else to explain the tavern keeper’s kid, in a world he never made, a world compressed into one, cockeyed wonder of a city; of “haves” kicking the bejeepers out of “have-nots”; of Jane Addams and Al Capone; of Florence Scala, a neighborhood heroine, and Richard J. Daley- and of Slats Grobnik, for God’s sake. Royko was the right one in the right city at the right time: to tell us in small tales what this big, crazy world in the last half of the twentieth century was all about. And the devil made him do it.” (The Best of Mike Royko One more Time/University of Chicago Press)
There is a statue of a mere gossip columnist, Irv Kupcinet, and statues of beloved sports announcers, Harry Caray and Jack Brickhouse. There is no statue for another beloved Chicago columnist, Ann Landers (Eppie Lederer). It is past time for her to have a statue too.
Royko was a devotee of 16-inch softball, the only softball in Chicago. I still do not know why 12-inch softball is not banned in this city. By the way, who wears gloves to play softball? I guess the powers that be do not want to offend the Wussie community. They might cry, protest, and band together to form an organization- Little Balls Matter, LBM.
Maybe a statue of Royko holding a sixteen-inch softball aloft like Hamlet holding the skull of “Poor Yorick” would be cool. Royko would appreciate the Shakespearean element. When I shared the petition on Facebook, a friend, the Geriatric Genius, stated the statue should be in front of City Hall, with Royko giving it the finger. It could be put on the ugly Daley concrete flower partition in the middle of the street.
Mike Royko deserves a statue and an honorary street named after him wherever it is erected. Royko Road has a nice ring to it. If not a sculpture, a permanent mural or mosaic mural would be lovely. Chicago has great artists who would do justice to the project.
If we can erect a statue of a mere gossip columnist, we should have one for Royko, who contributed so much commentary, laughter, anger, and entertainment to the people of this city. Then, we can talk about a statue for Ann Landers.
*For those who came to Chicago from someplace else, calling people by their last names is a long-held and cherished Chicago tradition.
The Chicago Park District has filed a motion attempting to seal a lawsuit involving allegations that Mayor Lori Lightfoot berated a lawyer and used obscene language in a Zoom call over a Christopher Columbus statue — an unusual move that would keep the public in the dark about the case. (Chicago Tribune)
Nothing changes in the junkyard politics of Chicago. The Chicago Park District wants the courts to seal a lawsuit by an attorney against the city over a Zoom meeting where the mayor berated the attorney.
“You make some kind of secret agreement with Italians. … You are out there stroking your d—- over the Columbus statue, I am trying to keep Chicago police officers from being shot and you are trying to get them shot,” Lightfoot said, according to the complaint. “My d— is bigger than yours and the Italians, I have the biggest d— in Chicago.” (Mayor Lori Lightfoot/Chicago Tribune)
The Park District claims making the lawsuit public will adversely affect another case they are fighting on the removal of the Christopher Columbus Statues. The Chicago Park District wants Omerta, silence. No dirty laundry needs to be exposed, proven, or disproven. The only things that change in Chicago are the names. The opacity and lack of accountability are still the rule of law in Chicago.
Both lawsuits are against public entities, the City of Chicago and the Chicago Park District. They are not the CIA or NSA, where secrets must be preserved. The lawsuits are in the public interest. I guess someone does not want the public to hear or see what really happened during that meeting. The Park District had enough ugly publicity over the sexual harassment and assault allegations they tried to cover up.
They are acting like the old Mafia- “This thing of ours is secret, secret.” (Gotti Movie) Nothing gets out, even from the courts. One could wonder what else was said during that Zoom meeting. The real question is whether the Park District is acting in its own interest or on orders from Mayor Lori Lightfoot and her self-preservation interest.
The Chicago Way is still alive and kicking in Chicago. It works. It works for the elected officials and their appointees. It does not work for the people. The people do not count. We pay taxes to support their perfidy. What other secrets is City Hall or the Chicago Park District hiding from the public?
By the way, where are the courageous and fearless investigative reporters digging into the machinations at City Hall? Are they extinct? When we need them the most, they are nowhere to be found. The few who claim the title are nothing but mere poseurs.
Alderman Paddy Bauler was right all those decades ago. “Chicago ain’t ready for reform.” It wasn’t then, and it isn’t now. It never will be.
When it comes to public entities, there is another word for secrets. Lies. Secrets are lies. Every time an elected official, appointee, bureaucrat, or spokes weasel flaps their soup coolers, they lie.
We are being lied to about public safety or the lack thereof. We are being lied to about city finances. We are being lied to about everything.
All liars are not politicians or bureaucrats. All politicians and bureaucrats are liars. They make liars look trustworthy.
“With little support from Chicago or the state, any aid would probably be a local tax district to pay for roads and infrastructure… In Chicago, taxpayers are still paying $432 million plus interest of the $690 million it cost to renovate the Bears’ current home at Soldier Field in 2003” (Chicago Tribune/Emphasis Mine)
Hmm? Why would Chicago, or the state for that matter, provide support for the McCaskey Bears move to Arlington Heights? Inquiring minds want to know.
If the McCaskey’s want to build a new stadium in Arlington Heights and the town wants the stadium, why should Chicagoan’s tax dollars support it? Why should state tax dollars support it? We will be paying for the improvements to Soldier Field long after the McCaskey’s leave.
As I wrote before, the Bears had over three or four decades to build a stadium on available vacant land in the city, including the Chicago Riverfront. All that property is now being developed for housing and commercial enterprises, along with the necessary infrastructure. Instead of renovating Soldier Field, the McCaskey’s and the city could and should have built a new stadium to suit the needs of the team and the league.
The team owners and the city could have created a year-round entertainment venue and destination area with a domed stadium for year-round use. It would have spurred economic development in the areas surrounding the stadium and given the city a shot in the arm from various taxes and fees.
The Sox, Bulls, and Blackhawks stayed put and built new multi-use venues. The Cubs reworked Wrigley Field and helped turn the neighborhood into a destination and tourist area, with hotels and other venues. My only conclusion is the McCaskeys have no love for Chicago. They adore the suburbs and ex-burbs. That is where they live. They want to “play” in the same milieu as their homes.
The other reason is somewhat informed speculation. The McCaskeys are as miserly as their grandfather, George Halas. It was said Halas tossed around change like manhole covers. The McCaskey’s are cheapskates and chiselers. They want taxpayers to foot most of the bill for their stadium.
There are still tracts of land available in Chicago to build a stadium. There is money available through the NFL, as they helped fund other stadiums. The McCaskey’s would rather give an economic boost to a suburb than the city that made them. Yes, much of their fan base is in the burbs. They come to Chicago, along with out of towners, to spend money. That money creates various taxes and other revenues. Why should we support the Miserly McCaskey’s move? Their move is our loss.
The McCaskey Bears and family do not deserve one more cent from the city or the state. If Arlington Heights wants the Bears so bad, they can find their own way to support the new stadium. Let the burden fall on them and their taxpayers.
TimeOut Chicago has to be the worst of the worst media about Chicago. Their tagline is, “We know Chicago. Do you.” It is a big lie. The chromosomal defectives who write for that trash bag know absolutely zero, zip, nada about Chicago. Now, they are trying to give “law abiding lessons.” What are they, law dogs?
I get that the children who write this drivel want to appear cool and hip. But cool and especially hip means you know what the f**k you are talking about. You have useful knowledge to impart. The operative word is knowledge. Worse, their editors let them get away with this cazzate. The editors have no editorial standards.
Here is the list of their latest mortal sins. As the Polish nuns would say, Jesus, Mary, and Jumpin Joseph.
Master CTA etiquette. Don’t stand at the door. Take your backpack off. Blah, blah, blah. If people have to be reminded of this, they have no business on public transportation. They and we would be better off if they pi**ed on the third rail to thin out the herd. The sin of the wastes of putrid protoplasm at TimeOut is one of omission. They refuse to put in is do not eat or drink beverages on the CTA. It is illegal. But these are probably the morons who eat and drink with abandon on public transportation, pretending they are in a dining car.
Understand that “Windy City” has nothing to do with weather. This is ridiculous. Who cares if people know this? Does TimeOut Chicago know how the city got that moniker or who coined it? If you are going to give advice, you should at least provide an explanation. I bet those dunderheads do not know the Chicago meaning of the “hawk.”
Scale back your use of the term “Chi.”First, I never ever heard anyone use the word Chi about Chicago. Secondly, real Chicagoans do not give a rat’s rear end what you call the city. Chi, Chi-Town, Chiraq, Murder City, Deadville, or whatever.
Know your ward number and your alderman’s name. Why? So you can impress your friends whilst drinking a triple decaf soy latte with three different syrups, topped with oat milk “whipped cream,” and rainbow sprinkles at Starf**ks? The only day you need those two bits of information is election day if by happenchance you vote.
Watch out for cyclists. This is partially correct, but they have it ass-backward. Cyclists should watch out for pedestrians, cars, and car doors. Most of those two-wheeled terrorists are oblivious to everything except their cardio pump. They violate traffic laws with abandon. Then, when one is killed by violating laws, they erect litter blight, those white bikes, to permanently commemorate the fallen. What, are these people heroes of the republic or something?
And Divvy riders—stay off the damn sidewalks. What about regular cyclists? Or are they allowed to break the law and ride on sidewalks? Most divvy riders weeble and wobble like children who just had their training wheels removed. What they should ask is, how much did Divvy bribe contribute to politicians to put those ridiculous contraptions all over the city? Divvy and others, including scooters, should be banned.
Try your best to stop talking about the weather constantly. Do these people think they are Emily F**king Post? Talk and complain about whatever you want, including the weather. No one is offended or thinks it is a faux pas. Real Chicagoans complain about the weather and everything else in this junkyard of a city. We are not happy if we do not have something to b**ch about.
Stop treating the South Side like an embarrassing family member we don’t talk about. This makes me want to vomit in my soup. It is proof these circle-jerk tweenagers have no clue about anything. Talk about whatever neighborhood you want. Bash it, trash it, or laud it. Mr. Rogers does not have a neighborhood here, thank the Great Comedian. Chicago is a city of neighborhoods, and we always had a healthy “neighborly” competition. Criticize all you want. REAL Chicagoans do not care. There is one exception. South Side versus North Side- Sox versus Cubs. That could get you stuffed headfirst into a trash bin.
Use escalators correctly. Oh please. Stay on the right so the mountain trekkers can climb on the left? Escalators are for riding. If you want to climb, USE THE F**KING STAIRS. Ride however you want. Hell, stand in the middle. Pass gas. Who gives a s**t?
Accept ketchup on hot dogs. No. Never, ever, ever. Never, ever, ever is a long, long, long time. There is a very specific reason you never put that Brit twit s**t on hotdogs. It has nothing to do with custom. Only people who have no taste buds put ketchup on hot dogs.
Know your local grocery stores. Really? Really? Do these crayon-wielding scribbling slap d**ks think people are as stupid as they are? Who does not know their local grocery store? How does one shop for food if they do not know their local grocery store, or if you are a real Chicagoan, plural?
Stop reenacting every movie ever made in Chicago. What adult or even teen does this? I never saw anyone do this, not even young drunks in bars. Maybe, just maybe, it is TimeOut Chicago’s secret obsession they do in the privacy of their most intimate space.
Be able to recommend one good pizza spot. Is pizza the only culinary delight in Chicago? Or is that all these acne pimple popping pus heads live on? What about a good pasta spot? Maybe a good Chinese, Ramen, Mexican, Uzbekistan, Thai, Polish, or a good diner? How about good f**king any kind of food spot. How many free pizzas did Pequod’s bribe the Timeout writers with for the shameless plug?
I get a kick every time these bed sharters write “advice” pieces about Chicago. If you take their advice, you will never be a real Chicagoan. You will never enjoy living here. You will always be a stranger, treated with disdain and ridicule. If you want to learn about Chicago, never read any advice from TimeOut Chicago.
Here cometh April again, and as far as I can see the world hath more fools in it than ever. (Charles Lamb)
Today is April Fool’s Day. Short story, the Gregorian Calendar superseded the Julian Calendar in the late 1500s. Both were solar calendars, but the Gregorian was more accurate. Depending on which history you read, many European countries were slow to adapt to the new calendar, which put New Year’s Day on January 1st. They either celebrated the New Year from March 25th through April 1st or on April 1st. Those who did not conform to the new calendar were called April Fools.
The whole history is a bunch of hogwash tainted with bulls**t. Pope Gregory and his Medieval clerics knew the Great Comedian created the human species last for a specific reason, sport. They knew this through divine intervention.
Everything on Earth was designed to kill humans. The Great Comedian could sit back, watch, enjoy, and laugh at his human creation, the first reality show, “Survival of the Fittest.”
The clerics created April Fool’s Day to humiliate humans for thinking they were superior beings. The Earth and all its methods to kill us off are considered inferior by humans and to be conquered. Only fools believe that humans, like other species, will not become extinct at some point in time.
Need proof? Humans were descended from other species. All are extinct. Our closest relative is the bonobo, which is endangered. It won’t be long, maybe hundreds or thousands of years, but we will be gone. If we do not wipe ourselves out first with weapons of mass destruction.
Only fools believe humans are the superior species. Today is the day to celebrate our foolishness. April Fool’s pranks were created to prove how stupid most humans are. Those clerics sure knew what they were doing when they established this day.
Think about this. Humans are the only species on Earth that purposefully kills members of their own species. We murder each other, start wars to mass murder people, and unleash diseases, toxins, and hazards. Natural disasters were not enough to satisfy the fools, so they foolishly created manmade disasters. Yeah, humans are some superior species alright.
Killing each other is a way of life for us. We created weapons of mass destruction to ensure we become extinct sooner. Horses have more sense than humans. They never bet on the human race.
Fools talk about saving the planet. The only thing that will save the Earth is the extinction of humans. The fools contributed nothing to the planet worth saving. Humans did their best and are still doing their best to destroy the pristine paradise the Great Comedian created. We pat ourselves on the back with national parks and other preserved places to make us feel better about the destruction we wreaked upon the Earth. Save the planet? What a crock of bulls**t.
The Great Comedian played his prank on us. He is somewhere on vacation, laughing his arse off and watching us contribute to our own extinction. Oh, and the planet? It will save itself until the next natural or terrestrial cataclysm takes it out.
Happy April Fool’s Day. If you are celebrating, remember to drink responsibly. Contrary to popular culture, the Great Comedian does take care of fools and drunks. He never has and never will.
“Old age is an excellent time for outrage. My goal is to say or do at least one outrageous thing every week.” (Maggie Kuhn)
When people ask me how I am, my stock answer is, “I’m old, crabby, ugly, tired, mean, miserable, and ornery.” It would make a great title for a Country Western song. It pays to have a consistent positive attitude. Consistency is one of the hallmarks of excellence.
A while back, a good friend asked how I was doing. I told them I was trying to grow old gracefully, but it was not working well. I live in a curmudgeonly, crotchety, cantankerous state of mind.
When I wake up in the morning, I sit on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath to see if I am still living. I take stock of any new aches and pains in places of my body that I never knew existed. Then I shuffle off to get the elixir of life, coffee. Coffee makes me feel human again. It also imparts humanity because it is the only thing that keeps me from becoming a serial killer.
I try hard to remember I am not 25 anymore. My mind and body are constantly at war with each other. Sometimes my body says, “I do not think that is a good idea” My brain says, “Hold my whiskey.”
I spend the morning scanning the news to keep informed of all the issues I should be p***ed off about. I shower, shave, dress and go out to face the day. Eventually, supposed members of the human species- the pests and pestilence- will go out of their way to fuel my anger issues. These leftover useless wastes of protoplasm never fail to disappoint. Jean-Paul Sartre was right. “Hell is other people.” It is not literally what he meant, but it is an apt description of the mutant genetic defects that make my daily life a living Hell.
The older I get, the more I take profanity to a higher art form. If I live any longer, it may become its own genre. On some days, patience or calm is not in my vocabulary. I do not suffer fools and have no mercy for them. I am not Mr. T, pitying the fools. I use the three-strike rule.
Strike one. I will ask you not to do something- even nicely saying please- as much as that hurts.
Strike two. I will tell you in a loud voice.
Strike three. I will unleash a Hellfire of vulgarity
Strike three was fun during the height of COVID when people, masked or unmasked, came into my six-foot personal space. I do not care what others in earshot think or if their little bundles of chromosomal slime are within hearing distance.
They say these are the Golden Years. Well, I did not get a gold watch when I turned 65. I do not get “showers” from Russian hookers. I don’t own a gold-plated toilet or have gold-plated fixtures. So, what is so f**cking golden about these years? If I live another ten years, will they be called the Platinum or Diamond Years?
The language keeps changing. I am not supposed to be old. I am supposed to be a senior citizen. So, if I am a senior, when do I get my graduation ceremony, diploma, graduation party, cake, and gift envelopes full of cash?
Elder is another term. What am I a member of a tribe or church? Of a certain age? What is a certain age? Can I call myself any certain age I want?
Some refer to people refer to old people as xy years young? Am I aging backward? Will I regress to my former self, 175lbs. of romping stomping dynamite?
None of us wants to get old. Guess what, most of us are lucky enough to get old. Some never make it, they die “young” or at a “certain age.”
We treat old age as if it is some golden opportunity. It is an achieved goal, a sign of success. “I made it. I am old. Hallef**kinglujah.”
“I am prepared to meet my maker. Whether my maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter.” (Winston Churchill)
We live until we die. But no one dies during these times of soft, meaningless language. Die, dying, and death are forbidden in our supposed modern wussified vocabulary. We pass. Are we kidney stones? We transition. Transition to what? We expire. Like subscriptions? We go to a better place. Really? Where is this better place, and why can’t we go there when we’re living?
People go to wakes. They tell the family they are sorry for their loss. Loss? The stiff is lying right there in the coffin. The loved one is not lost. Thanks to mortuary cosmetology, he/she/they/them/it looks better in death than they ever did in life. They are probably better dressed too.
I am old. I will die eventually. Until then, I will take great pride in my crazy, cantankerous, curmudgeonly persona. Being old, crabby, tired, ugly, mean, miserable, and ornery is the only way to survive in a world of human pests and pestilence with which the Great Comedian plagued my daily life in this Hell on Earth.
Living in Chicago is arduous. The city is inhabited by too many humans from the dregs of the gene pool. They make me crazy enough to want to run naked through the streets shouting like some raving mad drunken Russian poet. With warm weather, hopefully, on the horizon, these genetic mutants will be out in force. These are just a few things driving me insane.
Last week I ordered something from a major corporation- not Amazon. The next day they sent me the information to track my package. It left Tennessee. The next day it arrives at O’Hare Airport in Chicago. Then, it went to FedEx O’Hare and then FedEx Chicago. It was en route to FedEx, New Berlin Wisconsin, outside of Milwaukee the next day. Later that day, it arrived. Last night I checked, and it was on its way back to Chicago. Today, FedEx turned it over to the USPS. Hopefully, it will not go through Alaska before it finally arrives.
A couple of days ago, I was sitting in a bar and was hungry. I saw the bartender order a sandwich and had it delivered. I ordered online from the same place. It is a national chain that promises to deliver your food faster than the fire department arrives if your house is burning. I specified in the notes I was sitting in the named bar. I pre-tipped the delivery on my card. An hour goes by, and there is no sandwich.
I called the sandwich shop. The manager claimed they tried to deliver the sandwich. I told him I never saw the delivery person come into the bar. He insisted the driver was there. Then he was appalled at my salty language. I have no tolerance for no-service people when they act like idiots. Eventually, my sandwich arrived, but I will never order or eat again at one of those places.
Horn beepers are a serious bane. If you are a millisecond too slow to move from a red light or stop sign, the horns blare. I tap the gas to get the car moving, then let the car roll as slowly as possible. I am never in a hurry. At my age, I only have two speeds, slow and stop. So, suffer, suckers. Beep all you want. I ain’t driving faster to accommodate your race to the bottom.
Worse are the guys- they are always guys- who drive Ferraris, Lambos, Maserati’s, or other exotic sports cars. They cannot drive them at full speed, but they must let the world know they exist. So, they coast in neutral, hitting the gas, so their pipes blast out an explosive growling noise that echos off buildings.
For the uninformed, Ferrari, Lambo, and Maserati are slang for penis extension. Only guys with too much money and too little size spend a small fortune on those extensions of their genitalia. Guys, you are out of your league. Mayor Lightfoot has the biggest d**k in Chicago. Ask her, she will tell you. Oh, and she did not have to spend a king’s fortune for it.
Electric scooters, motorized skateboards, and motorized unicycles are plaguing our streets. Why did the city cater to children and allow them to use toys for transportation? What next, Red Ryder electric wagons? Do these adults who transport themselves on toys have a thumb-sucking need to relive their childhood or live the childhood they wished they had? Like the terrorist bicyclists, they have no regard for the Rules of the Road. They are a danger to themselves, drivers, and pedestrians. These toys should be banned. One could wonder how much money in bribes oops, “campaign contributions” these companies paid our corruptible politicians to put children’s toys on the streets for playful, silly adults.
People who cannot control their large dogs while walking them are menaces to society, especially if they use long or retractable leashes. In some cases, one could say the dog is walking the supposed human. I have not seen a human relieving themself while the dog watches, though. The dog drags them along while they are oblivious to people walking. If you almost trip, they blame you. You are supposed to watch where their dog is and what it is doing.
Some of these puss heads walk the dogs while their faces are plastered to their phones. They are not paying attention to the animal or watching where they are going. I am waiting for one of those beasts to lunge at something while their humanoid waste of protoplasm tweets, texts, or scrolls. I would laugh like a fool if the human faceplanted on the sidewalk.
If these “humans” are the future of the human race., we do not have to worry about climate, whatever they call it this month, destroying civilization. It appears these slop leavings at bottom of the gene pool will do Mother Nature’s work for her.
The month of March is coming to a freezing end. Spring gave Chicago a huge FU finger. It teased with a warm day or two, then struck back with cold weather. March also brought us some questionable moments. Things that make inquiring minds go, hmmm.
The latest was the smack heard and seen around the world. Last night, Will Smith slapped Chris Rock in the face at the Oscars over a joke about Smith’s wife’s “GI Jane” look. Imagine what would happen if Chris Rock made a joke about Alec Baldwin’s wife, Hilarious, Hilarity, or whatever her name is. Baldwin, known for his mean temper, and punching innocent people may have pummeled Rock until pulled off by several people. Or, or there may have been some kind of deadly accident. The “unloaded” gun Baldwin did not know he was carrying went off by itself, an accidental discharge. Hmmm?
Russia is destroying parts of Ukraine while the Ukraine armed forces and militias are killing Russian soldiers. Farmers are towing away abandoned Russian tanks. A Russian tanker ran over an officer with a tank. France’s President, Emmanuel Macron, is trying to pretend he is a diplomat and peacemaker. His vocabulary consists of one word, de-escalation. When he is not mugging for the cameras deescalating, he takes inventory of his nation’s WWII arms, brand new, never fired, and only dropped once. Hmmm?
While waging unprovoked war crimes in Ukraine, Russia condemned Azerbaijan for sending troops into the Armenian-held territory of Nagorno-Karabakh, killing three Armenian soldiers, and wounding others. There were supposed to be Russian “peacekeeping” forces to, well, keep the peace. Little good they did. Putin made his displeasure known about the unprovoked attack. Vlad the Invader is now trying to be Putin the Peacemaker. I guess Putin can juggle two personalities at once. Hmmm?
I listened to parts of the hearings to confirm Ketanji Brown for Supreme Court Justice. I was somewhat amused at the fascination some senators had over child pornography. Ted Cruz, the Cuban-Canadian with the creepy, ugly beard, would not let go. He is still seeking more information on child pornography. One could wonder about Cruz’s and others’ deep-diving fascination with child pornography. Hmmm?
The Chicago Public School system reported 8% of their tech items missing. Thousands of computers, iPads, and even air purifiers, lawn equipment, treadmills, and defibrillators. They reported the missing inventory to the police, who believe many items were stolen or on loan items were not returned. CPS must have some poor protocols for tracking their inventory. The smash and grabbers have nothing on CPS personnel or people they allow access to their property. One could wonder where all that property went? Your tax dollars, especially those high property taxes at work and waste, Hmmm?
Image: UNK/Facebook
And, last, but not least, our “illustrious” mayor, Lori Lightfoot, had her own hmmms this month. First, she claimed to have the biggest male genital member in the city, causing Chicago males to question their own manhood, so to speak. Then, she attended a St. Patrick’s Day parade wearing a kilt. Evidently, according to my Irish friends, she was not wearing it properly. One questioned how she kept the biggest genital member in Chicago from revealing itself. Was she wearing Tighty-Whities underneath to keep said member constrained? Hmmm?
We live in the realm of you just cannot make this stuff up. We will see what April Fool’s Day brings us in a few days. Hmmm?
