TOP SECRET!! READ ALL ABOUT IT!!

A gaggle of Republican Congressmen (what is the proper collective noun for a member of Congress, I wonder? A congress of Congressmen seems redundant, whereas a murder of Congressmen seems more than a little hostile, but that’s just my opinion) forced their way into the super-secret classified room in which the Impeachment Inquisition is holding its demonic rites and demanded that the proceedings be made open to the public, among other important things—they did order pizza, for example, and ordering pizza is always a very important thing, although there is no record of who ordered the slice with the anchovies and pineapple; clearly some distinguished gentlemen  from a state somewhere west of the Mississippi River who doesn't know any better.  The Grand Inquisitor, Mr. Schiff of California, a man who could not inspire terror in a lame housefly even when holding a can of Raid and a sawed-off shotgun, promptly closed down the testimony of some spavined State Department bureaucrat muttering about how the Ukraine girls really knock him out, and demanded that the Republicans leave the West behind.  Tempers flared again today when the Impeachment Inquisition announced that the Republicans had, horror of horrors, actually used their cellphones and other personal electronic devices while in the super-secret classified room eating their pizza. The Democratic Party’s sudden devotion to the procedures for handling classified materials and areas is welcome, albeit slightly suspect; I do not recall this devotion to the letter of the law when Mrs. Clinton was letting a plethora of classified cats out of the bag with her personal email server, but perhaps my memory fails me. In any case, the Democrats’ screeching about the violation of their sanctum sanctorum is a little hard to take seriously. The whines emanating from Capitol Hill about the violation of security protocols frankly remind me of a drug dealer complaining that the cops ignored the Keep Off The Grass sign in his yard on their way into his house.

Excuses, excuses

Yes, you think, excuses, excuses, and more excuses for not writing, Akaky has a million and one excuses for not parking his fat backside down and getting to work. Well, you'll be happy to know that there is something on the griddle and that I anticipate that it will be done shortly. At least, I hope it is done shortly, because, as you know, things come up suddenly, the lawn has to be mowed, and the Commies are coming out of the woodwork. But I will, as the Chief says in The Outlaw Josey Wales, endeavor to perservere and have this new bit out here just as soon as I can, And thank you again for your continued support!

Snakes and other adventures in media

I may be horribly old-fashioned, and I do realize that there are good many people who will roll their eyes at the idea that I might be old-fashioned and say, no, you are not old-fashioned, stupid, you are completely behind the times and would you please hurry up and catch up with the Zeitgeist before you embarrass yourself completely, but I cannot fathom why anyone would think that watching an anaconda swallow a grown man is in any way entertaining.  But it seems that someone does, because I have seen a commercial for this…actually, I am not sure what to call it.  I do not know if this qualifies as a reality show, a wildlife documentary, or a cooking show. I realize that the advent of cable and satellite television, and the subsequent need for ever more content to fill the hours, has led inevitably to a diminution in the quality of the programming available for broadcast, but frankly, watching a giant snake swallow a grown man is more than a little ridiculous.  This is not entertainment; it barely qualifies as bread and circuses.

First, a spoiler alert: our intrepid hero, who has gone boldly where no man has gone before, survives his encounter with the anaconda. I know this because our intrepid hero is in all the ads for this program and appears to narrate the program as well, two bits of showmanship that more or less preclude the snake’s having digested him. That’s a dead giveaway there, if you ask me. There is no suspense involved in watching a snake swallow a man if you already know that the man survives the encounter, only a vaguely annoyed feeling with yourself for watching such rubbish in the first place. If you must feel annoyed with yourself, you may as well watch the further adventures of the Kardashian sisters; whatever else you can say about them, they are certainly better looking than a giant anaconda.

Second, what is the point of this particular exercise, other than to deny a snake its dinner?  If we must learn about the digestive processes of snakes, wouldn’t it be easier to have the snake swallow a camera the same way I do when my GI guy insists that I have a colonoscopy. Snakes have no trouble swallowing anything; their jaws uncouple, as we all learned in eighth grade biology, so that they can swallow animals bigger than their own heads.  It’s what they do.  Therefore, it should not be wildly difficult to induce an anaconda to gulp down a camera, even if there isn’t a grown man attached to it.  But why do it in the first place?  I am clearly missing something here.

Finally, swallowing is not interesting. Everyone does it every day. Our intrepid hero would be better off if he skipped being an appetizer and did something constructive like campaigning to end such violent spectacles as bullfighting, high school football, and the Miss America pageant, and replacing them with wholesome entertainment like giraffe swatting, wherein teams of drunken dwarves armed with fly swatters and equipped with pogo sticks try to swat the most flies away from the heads of giraffes running around a track before the time clock or the whiskey run out. Now, that is something I would pay good money to see and I would pay it knowing that no one was about to offend my sensibilities.