And Dawn had better get here with that crack pretty shortly, these kids are getting impatient.
Remember yesterday, when the coyote (WaPo) finally had that pesky Roadrunner (Hat ‘n’ Hair) dead to rights and the Trump presidency was really, truly over, then it wasn’t? I posted the “oops” tweet, but here’s the recoil. And hilariously, this isn’t even the first major fuckup from that “reporter.” Why does he even still have a job? Anyway, well, today, they REALLY TRULY have that damn Roadrunner. THIS TIME FOR SURE! I mean, they even went to the trouble of having an analysis from a former Obama official, and you can’t get more definitive and objective than that! Man, at this rate, there’s going to be a national popcorn shortage.
And the soi-disant “tax reform bill” continues to be nailing Jello to the wall. Team Red, you had one job, and what you give us is a dog’s breakfast. Anyway, the story is the usual conflation of “tax rate cuts” with “tax cuts,” as well as “tax rate increase” with “tax increase.” That’s just plain sloppy thinking, and though I expect it from economically illiterate reporters and political hacks, I know that OUR commentariat knows the difference. Right? The bill ends us up with a tax code just as complex, vague, arbitrary, and incomprehensible as the one it replaces, just with some pieces moved around. Well done, Team Red. How about the OMWC plan: Fuck you, cut spending. Tax form to 1/2 a page maximum and taking far, far less money, and only for functions constitutionally delegated to the federal government. And then I woke up from that lovely dream…
Here’s the appropriate aria: another (((one))) bites the dust. If anyone ever gets a hint of the extraordinary amount of vagina plowed by Mike Rowe in his opera days, we’ll lose a real icon. Or maybe not, since he has the… fortitude to tell everyone to fuck off and not play the faux-apology-grovel game.
OK, Old Guy Music, this time from one of the greatest ensembles ever on one stage, all Mingus alumni back for a reunion. I make no secret of my idolization of Roland Kirk, and he sure delivers here, blowing away every other sax player on that stage- and those are some insanely great sax players. I particularly liked his parody of George Adams’s outside playing, which he casually slips into at a pace triple that of Adams’s. It’s a long jam, but every minute packs a punch.