The state fair had come once more to the dusty fairgrounds of a podunk town. Crowds of curious rubes and yokels from miles around came for the circus and other festivities. As exciting as seeing an elephant was for people, who in most cases were people who’d never been more than 50 miles from where they had been born, the real attraction every year was always the traveling medicine show. It was headed by that inimitable and most esteemed doctor, pastor, and Kentucky Colonel, Rufus Ozymandias Washington III Esquire. He was an imposing and jovial figure in his top hat and beetle wing tailcoat. A full head of silver hair and immaculately trimmed beard lent him an air of gravitas and serene dignity. As his wagon entered the fairgrounds, it was as through an oriental potentate had returned in triumph from some epic battle. From the shotgun seat, Washington’s assistant repeatedly shouted, “make way, make way ladies and gentlemen, for the one and only world-famous Washington Traveling Medicine Show!”
A throng trailed behind the wagon which stopped and set up shop right in front of the big top of the main circus tent. It was a prominent position which ensured the maximum number of people would walk past the medicine show. Of course, Rufus had made arrangements in advance with the circus boss to occupy this prime real estate and paid a king’s ransom for it. Money is for spending, as Rufus like to say, and despite the humble appearance of his enterprise, it was enormously profitable. All he had to do was follow the circus the way a vulture circles carrion and he was sure to be flush with cash by the end of the season. His long streak of success had made him haughty, even reckless. Alas, his health was on the decline, and he had decided this would be his last season, and thus, his last top at this particular fairground. He vowed that this season would be his swan song and that he would go out with a bang. In his mind, it was his duty to give the crowd what they wanted, which was hope, entertainment, and escape from their humdrum lives.
From the wagon, Rufus emerged, and he and a few helpers assembled a makeshift stage. After a few more preparations, Rufus, bullhorn in hand, mounted the rickety contraption and shouted at the top of his lungs: “ladies and gentlemen, the great traveling medicine show is hereby open for business! Hurry, hurry, hurr-aay! Step right up now to receive for the most convenient prices antidotes for the gravest afflictions! 100% satisfaction guaranteed, step right up, hurry, hurry, hurr-aay!” Soon, a man stepped forth near the stage. He said, “hello, stranger. Watcha got for a man losing his hair?” Rufus turned to the petitioner with a kind look in his eyes. Then he said “oh good sir, hair loss is a common affliction. Here, for the low, low price of $1 per bottle, you can have a bottle of my patented, fool-proof hair-restoring male-enhancement tonic. And, if you know what I mean, a side-effect of this tonic makes any many much stronger in the bedroom, and that is sure to make your wife happy as well.”
There were excited gasps and exclamations from the women in the audience. Some were giddy with anticipation and others laughed quietly in skeptical derision.
As soon as Rufus bellowed these words into a megaphone, a crowd of men scrambled to buy bottles of the so-called male enhancement tonic. “Now, now”, Rufus shouted to the spell-bound crowd of men, “there’s plenty here for every man, remember the manners your mama taught you and be gentlemen about it!” So then after a few moments, the former furor died down and the crowd was calm again. Rufus scanned the crowd for their foibles and weaknesses, and after a few moments of consideration, he bellowed into the megaphone once more: “Gentlemen in the audience, be truthful now with yourselves and with those near and dear to you. Have you lost some vim and vigor since the golden age of your youth? Are you no longer slim in the waist and pretty in the face as you were when you first laid loving eyes on a fair young maiden? Are you eager to regain the jaunty spring in your step? Then step right up, good fellows, for the salvation of your sorrows is only a bottle away for the low, low price of $2.”
Of course, with just such an irresistible sales pitch, a crowd of men gathered an around Rufus as he clutched greenbacks with one hand and tossed out bottles with the other. And in just such a way, the minutes and hours ticked by until Rufus was about ready to pack up for the night. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a boy about the age of 12 doggedly push his way to the front the crowd. With a plaintive voice full of hope, the boy yelled “Dr. Washington! Dr. Washington! Please, wait! I’m coming!” For once in his life, Rufus was overwhelmed with a strange sense of regret and pity. He bade his assistants to hold fast as the boy approached to within arm’s length. “Oh, thank you so much, Doctor Washington”, said the boy, “I knew the good lord would answer my prayers and let me speak with you tonight.” Rufus was thunderstruck by the earnestness and sincerity of the boy’s voice. He looked the eager lad right in the eyes and gave him his undivided attention.
“Thank you for waiting, Doctor Washington. I know you can help me. I brought with me all the money I’ve managed to scrape together in this piggy bank”, said the boy as he held his prized possession aloft in front of the shameless charlatan’s incredulous eyes. The boy then shook the bank and said “hear that? That’s the sound of $1.37, I know it’s not much but it’s all I’ve got. Doctor Washington, my dear sister perished last year from whooping cough. My family and I’d give anything to see her and talk with her again, even just for one day. Can you help us?”
Rufus struggled to maintain his composure as his mind raced. After a moment, he said, “what a fine young man you are. Wait here just a moment, I have just the thing for your tragic predicament.” He hurried quickly into the wagon and retrieved an unlabeled bottle of worthless and harmless snake oil that had gone unsold for years. As he handed it to the grateful youngster, he said “Don’t worry about the money, my boy. This one’s on this house, as they say. I regret to inform you that the good lord did not see fit to bless me with the power of resurrection, for that was entrusted to our blessed savior and to him alone. However, I am pleased to say that the magical flask you now hold contains a most precious liquid called genie tonic. That is to say, once you rub a bit from the contents of that bottle on yourself, you will be magical just like a genie from the tale of Aladdin and the Lamp. You will have the power to grant wishes, but only to those pure of heart and truly in need. Furthermore, your power will decline with each wish you grant, so be careful with it.”
With that, the boy seemed satisfied and took his leave. The incident stuck in the mind of the patent medicine dealer, and the experience of that evening was like a dark cloud which cast a shadow over the remaining performances. Summer grew to a close, and just as planned, Rufus retired to a pleasant college in the middle of nowhere. Even so, he had insatiable curiosity about the boy, and he subscribed to the local newspapers of the area in question for any new developments. As it turned out, there were a series of seemingly miraculous rescues from the vicinity of that fateful medicine show. Rufus could not but sigh and reflect that perhaps for once in his life, he had actually helped someone.
Unless the emails were targeted, I got nothing.
Guess I will find out if we are two techs short tomorrow…
Well, I hope it all works out well for you. Thanks for getting back to me!
Oh, I see a message from our union president. Doesn’t say who or what positions, just probationary employees.
I submitted this because at the time, I wasn’t sure if I’d write a satire that week.
Not sure if this story is too shmaltzy. I was trying to write something different from my usual fare.
I liked it.
Rufus Ozymandias Washington III Esquire
Wonderful name.
This was a lot of fun. “And, if you know what I mean, a side-effect of this tonic makes any many* much stronger in the bedroom, and that is sure to make your wife happy as well.”’ (*man)
I’d up-sell the shit out of that, were I a charlatan. Oddly, and a great compliment, I’m not sure how I feel about Rufus. I lean towards the positive, and it brings me to my bigger point: Until anyone can come close to explaining how placebos actually work (and they do, and we know *which ones work better than others), we don’t know shit about the brain. (Not entirely true, but you know what I mean.) The ‘cures’ and snake oil people buy *do* work, within reason, as long as the person *believes* in it. Regardless of the schtick, people are buying and they’re getting what they want. (I can say the same about doG. I am a deeply irreligious person. I don’t ‘get it’ and never have. Raised Catholic and snuck off to read The Hobbit, comics and baseball cards. (Dad used his media presence, and started as a sports reporter/ columnist, to get signed baseball cards mailed to us. Don Mattingly, I obviously have, but Craig Biggio (my spirit animal) and Tony Gwynn were my favorites.
Sweden just scored two unanswered, lead 2-1 over USA. I had a lovely day out with Dad and my three nephews. Special fun with Ezzie, also distinctly my spirit animal, but in tiny, ridiculously cute human form. I kinda had an olfactory hallucination an hour ago; not full-form but certainly in the mental-state ballpark. (Doc’ll be called tomorrow. Too many oddities. I’m not enthused, though things are (ish?) OK. (I take that back.) Major League is one of my favorite comedies. Damn. How the fuck they got Uecker, Wesley Snipes, Lloyd Bridges, Charlie Sheen, and that other guy, to openly make fun of the Indians in a major motion picture, kinda astounds me. I’d love to have been at that pitch. I’ve bought 8-balls before, and would bring to said event. (You bring the tits.)
Hell, I’d give $2 for a bottle of that stuff the lad got.
C’mon, Doctor Washington, you take credit cards, right?
I liked that story. Thanks.
“Small businesses thrive on TikTok”.
Seriously? OK I know I’m an old fart now but… c’mon. Stop that.
Taxes done. I’m so happy that those transgender kids in Columbia can use my tax dollars to put on their opera.
Fuckin’ Schwab – no 1099s until the 28th
What? I got mine from Schwab several days ago.
Same here. Nothing from the brokers yet so can’t do the capital gains and dividends yet.
I’ve got my checking and employer-sponsored 1099s but my taxable account always takes until the end of February for some reason.
Glad/sorry to hear that: glad it’s not just me.
I finished today as well. I’m not happy with the results, only that it’s over. I use Turbo Tax, this year was much more difficult, working on line. There will be lots of condoms available in Afghanistan again.
For guy that hasn’t had a job in 30 years it just doesn’t seem right. The inflation bumps result in more dollar taxes so it’s circular.
Don’t forget your tax dollars that get laundered back to the DNC!
Fixed.
I have 4 W-2s to file. I’ll likely get a $1400 check, if last year is an indicator. I didn’t make nearly enough money to actually ‘pay.’
Phlebotomy was a bold move, to put it lightly. ‘Specially as the second center had a fatal shooting two days before I started. (I wasn’t ever shook.) I’m quite proud of that, even though it never worked out. (Likely for the best. I did kinda fuck up a few times, but not with my needlework.)
Got an indeed notification for a nearby place, CargoLoop LLC, specializing in in’tl car shipments, and am gonna bypass indeed and just show up with my shit. Onward and upward. (Always.)
(I’m oddly quite qualified for anything international. I strongly approve.) Hopefully inertia (somehow?) pulls me into full-employment. Shall see.
Just filed.
We owe the feds $1600.
Getting $3600 from the state.
No idea how that happened. Usually it is reversed.
Spare a nickel for your ‘Firster?
*tosses a worthless penny towards Brochettaward*
PICK IT UP!
I GOT MORE!
I got sumptin give you the mailman can’t give.
I feel like Goat Scrotum and I should talk, preferably *not* about goatal scrutums.
It’s nasty, internally, being distressing to others. I am glad I’m stubbornly chipper, always. (There’s nothing to *gain* from negativity. Perhaps *learn.*) It’s better to make *active* mistakes, rather than passive ones. (The girl that got away, yeah?) On these near-38 years ’round the sun, I have not pussed about. Regardless of my fate, I’m remarkably proud of that, as well.
Are you in fact distressing? Have you been told that?
Happy national drink wine day.
As if you people need a reason.
☺🍷
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=gavcjNniIvk
🎶🎶
Are you calling Kamala Harris “you people”?
And of course the musical link needed to be this.
Wine isn’t drinkable.
UCS gets it.
Disgusting swill.
Also, whom ever designed smoke alarms, with the emphasis on alarm, to go off at 3:30 in the god damn AM needs to be taken out and shot in the public square. And whomever decided that they need to be hung up on the wall in such a way that you need to go out in the god damned garage to find a ladder tall enough to go take it down at 3:30 in the god damn morning when it is 20* out also needs to be shot in a similar manner.
Son of a Whore!
I love the new sealed battery ones. That are networked so all go off.
Good morning, Sean, Ted’S., U, and homey!
Morning, How Goes?
Cold! 12 degrees, “feels like 1,” but it’s cloudy, so maybe there won’t be frost all over my car windows. 😬🤞
How are you?
It’s 13° here, but the wind chill is -1°
I didn’t get as much sleep as I’d like, but it was my fault.
I never really do either. I should start doing some chores right after dinner instead of leaving them until right before bed.
It might free up later night time for zzZ
Exactly! And maybe I won’t think, “I don’t want to get ready for bed! It’s too much work!”
Morning All,
-19 but by the weekend it’ll start to warm up nicely
I thought “right after dinner” was “right before bed”.
Rotten grape blistering hangover juice that gives me heartburn. No thank you.
suh’ fam
whats goody
Looks to be a whopping 5 degrees here in the Glorious People’s Republic of DeWine-istan.
Good day to be working outside- luckily spring is in about 1 month
3 below in mid-Michigan.
🥶
Good morning, Beau! Stay warm!
We’re in the teens right now down in SE PA, but the big problem is the wind. Started Sunday and still blowing this morning. Lots of power outages and downed trees. And the forecast is snow, then rain, then snow. Trump and Global Warming, of course.
Do Jewish snowmen have to be circumcised?
https://www.israelhayom.com/2025/02/16/cold-peace-rare-weather-forecast-for-israeli-snow/
This headline makes me rather angry. “Not a hate crime”, because the perpetrators were also gay and transgender?
Was it a love crime?
https://abcnews.go.com/US/5-arrested-upstate-new-york-torture-killing-transgender-man/story?id=118875705
Torturing and murdering someone isn’t an act of hate?
Or, is it that gay and transgender people don’t feel the emotion of hate, because of who they are?
From the article:
”In my 20-year law enforcement career, this is one of the most horrific crimes I have ever investigated,” Swift added. “My thoughts are with Sam’s family during this time.”
So, “horror crime”, instead of “hate crime”, I guess.
Yeah, legally, not a “hate crime”, but, snotnoggins.
In the statement, officials noted that under the New York State penal code, a hate crime is defined as an offense committed “in whole or in substantial part because of a belief or perception regarding the race, color, national origin, ancestry, gender, gender identity or expression, religion, religious practice, age, disability or sexual orientation of a person regardless of whether the belief or perception is correct.”
The term “hate crime” is an attempt to pin any crime perpetrated against a preferred minority on the majority, ignoring the fact that most violent crimes are committed by people known personally or intimately by the victim.
Up here there is regular talk about murdered and missing indigenous women (MMIW), the implication being that they are murdered by white men, when in fact they are, in the vast majority of cases, murdered by native men they know.
Well if not murdered, then their cases aren’t taken seriously by white men eh?
Trump should go to the final hockey game on Thursday wearing a Team USA jersey with CANADA 51 on the back.
He should also punch Trudeau just after the hickey puck is dropped.
*hockey, not hickey.
By the way, “Hickey Punch” is the name of my new bluegrass/punk rock mix band.
Why wait for puck drop?
Anything worth doing is worth doing now.
Yep. She’s still drinking:
https://x.com/CollinRugg/status/1891232276434080227
That’s about a third of a box.