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Tucker Carlson and Don Lemon Walk Into A Bar The Next Day

~ So, Tuck – do they miss you?


~ Not one snivelling son-of-a-bitch.


~ No golden handshake?

~ They didn’t even talk to me.


~ What a way to start the week.

~ How about you, Don?


~ Nobody waved good-bye.

~ So, no golden handshake, neither?


~ I’d be repulsed by their touch.

~ They worshipped us.


~  That’s funny, Tuck.

~ But still true.


~ What is Truth?

~ Who the Tuck cares?


~ Do you remember what Dr. Goebbels said?


~ Hitler’s main man?


~ Yes. Minister of Propaganda.

~  Ah, good times. Remind me, Don.


~ He pointed around the Sports Palace.

~ Ah, those huge Berlin speeches.


~ And he said . . .


~ Yes?


~ “I could make them jump from the windows”.

~ Good Times.


~ Excellent Times.

DE  BA,  UEL

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Wotz Been Did & Wotz Been Hid 4 Friday 13th

I wish to state before this assembled multitude;

This packed house;

This captive audience;

That I have every right

(as much as each of you)

To be here

To represent my interests;

My justifications,

My associations,

Because

I am a member

In every day,

And,

Perhaps

Even on nights which are too cold.

And then the elevators,

(as they so often do)

Stop.

You look askance.

Indeed, you look at me

In that manner

That indicates the corners of your eyes

Are full of mistakes.

Which proves to me

Beyond and above

– to heaven even –

To the very Golden Gates,

Where various saints

Hang to the golden bars

And swing to and fro

In the Celestial breezes,

Which cause clouds to scud across the sky,

And there is barely time to think of a reply.

DE

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Trump And France Walk Into A Bar

flag-of-france

~ Monsieur le Président. What can I get you?

~ I’m guessing it will be wine?

~ It does not need to be.

~ Isn’t that what’s supposed to be civilised?
~ les Français have a much wider civilisation than that.

~ I have a fondness – or is it a weakness – for Charteuse.
~ That is fine, mais …

~ I like the green colour in the glass.
~ Indeed, it is beautiful.
~ Have you another suggestion?

~ Absinthe
~ Uh-oh. That sounds like a baddie, believe me.
~ It has a certain heft.
~ You know I don’t drink?
~  Mais, oui.
~ Then what is the purpose?
~ It is poor diplomacy to drink alone.
~Then have at it.
~ Monsieur Trump, the whole country – all of Europe – would like to thank you.
~ Am I going to get a wedgie here?
~ Not at all – you have saved us.
~ It’s starting to feel really really tight in my butt cheeks.
~ The citizens français have seen what you accomplish.
~ It’s getting hard to sit down.
~ And have voted against something similar happening here.
~ Are you trying to get me to drink this thing?
~ Mais, non. You just keep being who you are.

DE
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Kafka Sees His History In The Mirror [from: Kafka In The Castle]

angelo-decorative-corner-silver-leaf-bevelled-mirror-deknudt-mirrors-9166-0-1430262718000

04 March 1917

I dreamed I was a prophet. The prophet Amshel, which is my Jewish name. And, I could talk to God. And I was looking at myself in the mirror.

And I was looking back at me. I mean, Franz was in the mirror, looking back at me – the me of Amshel – who was looking in the mirror. Except, I was as much me looking out, as I was me looking in.

The wall behind the prophet was painted red, while the one behind Franz was of brown wood. They both could raise their fists at each other, and sometimes did. In unison, of course. That was the law.

“Certainly, you may speak to God,” said Franz. “What is there in that? Everyone speaks to God – in sentences, in actions, with their lives. No one is more talked-to in the Universe than God. But what a prophet needs, is to have God speak back.”

And then God spoke, from somewhere behind the mirror, but He did not speak to Amshel. He spoke to Franz.

“You are on the wrong side,” said God.

“Speak to me,” said Amshel.

“Wrong side of what?” asked Franz.

“Of the mirror,” answered God.

“Don’t speak to him,” shouted Amshel. “He is from the world of vipers.”

And Amshel raised his fist, but Franz had to hold up his fist in turn.

“I am not the prophet you seek,” said Franz, and pointed his finger at the mirror. “There is your prophet.”

And Amshel was also pointing toward the glass. “Not him – you don’t want him.” He then turned his hand toward himself. “I’m the one you want.”

But Franz was just as vehement, as his thumb arched toward his own chest. “Not me.” For emphasis, he placed his hand over his heart. “In this, God, you have erred.”

And his words echoed those of Amshel, who also had his hand upon his heart. “In this, God, you have erred.”

And the two faces stared at one another, their fingers clutching at the garments they wore.

But God was silent.

DE

(image) http://www.enidhuttgallery.com/images/_lib/angelo-decorative-corner-silver-leaf-bevelled-mirror-deknudt-mirrors-9166-0-1430262718000.jpg

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Unfriended By Crazy Folk On Facebook

eb29121c44fd875c18e0f3a7adec2190

If something interests me, I’m curious to know more. I don’t have to like the topic or source. One does not understand things or people by sticking to their own world view. I fear boredom more than ideas.

So, it strikes me as somewhat odd when three different sources on Facebook cast me to the wolves over the same couple of weeks. Perhaps they were not as diverse as I thought – in their extreme outlook, at any rate.
The first is a renowned – and even revered – author of decades standing, successful to the point of having one novel turned into a famous movie. And, I think I can say, a beloved novel and movie. A feel good enterprise.
So, it came as a surprise (to me, at any rate) when he started posting comments and opinions just a fraction to the left of Donald Trump. Spiteful and hateful and not from ignorance. Swathes of the population of the earth were denigrated and retribution was heaped upon them. I queried (as did many others) these opinions, pointing out, at the very least, factual errors. He never made any response, but did disappear from my time line.
The second was a lady of apparent serene disposition, who posted a continuous array of well-done photographs of both the Vatican, and events that happened there. There was – admittedly – a current of what I thought of as priest porn. She had her favourites and commented about their good looks and regal bearing. She gave them both blessings and adulation. And a notable number of responders agreed with her. OK, thought I. Such a slant made the photos any less enjoyable.
But then, one day, she made (for the tenor of the site) an excessive comment about ungodly folk being consigned to hell and not back. I queried this. She responded, “What?” I clarified. No more photos for me.
And lastly – and more expected – with the unhinged and vitriolic comments issuing from the Conservative side in the US election, I started visiting a right wing site. Know your enemy, no matter how frightening. And I made comments to some of the more outlandish stories and opinions. I would get responses to my comments, but what really struck me odd was that 70% of those who replied to me, agreed with me.
But this state did not last long. To be fair – I did not get barred from this site. I can just no longer register comments.
DE
(image)https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/eb/29/12/eb29121c44fd875c18e0f3a7adec2190.jpg
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