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Tossed Salad Friday

~~ In Dementia-ville, the only full-time resident has lost a great deal of her robustness. She’s screaming less, glaring less, and vegetating more. Her doctor says she’s in good health except for the degenerative toll her diseased brain is taking on her muscles, nerves, and other life-sustaining equipment. Therefore, I’m going to refrain this week from posting her feeble potty-mouth outbursts.

~~ I will tell you, without hesitation, that the stink of the week is a cross between moldy rye bread and unchecked foot fungus.

~~ The patient’s furtive aide is back. I think. She definitely works at keeping away from me, but has no qualms about talking on her phone as if the person on the other end has no eardrums. And is underwater.

~~ Somehow that reminds me of the woman on the yoga mat next to me who must have eaten a gallon of refried beans shortly before class commenced. She was neither abashed nor cautious about how her digestive system was plowing through those bad boys, and each time we twisted, she unleashed. I’m not there to judge, but a simple whispered “Sorry” or even a regretful shrug at the end of class would have been nice. Instead, she said, “This side of the room is too hot. I was very uncomfortable.” When she was out of earshot I replied, “I didn’t mind the heat, but the wind was unbearable.”

~~ Overheard: “I am so not kidding about how much she hates him. I know she’s only 10 but she whinnies every time he talks. Who wants to listen to Neigh all damn day?”

~~ I am overcome, though not overwhelmed. Or maybe it’s the other way around, but does it really matter? I lost a friend this week because I told her she posted something provably fake and then she and her daughter berated me for calling attention to it. I've had my head snapped off by gun lovers who don’t want to “politicize” gun control when people have died — but that’s the frigging point! Look, if I am slain by a gun, get on your highest horse and do whatever you can to make sure I’m the last person to die that way.

~~ A self-proclaimed Trumpster told me I was an "uneducated libtard" because I left out a comma on a Tom Petty song lyric. I responded that I was, in fact, merely being "manipulative" because if the comma didn't go Twitter wouldn't let me post 141 characters. He felt that to be a statement worthy of an "elitist [body part]," so I had no choice but to report him.

~~ You know how the Little Rascals had the He Man Woman Haters Club? I’m going to form a Hey MAGA I Hate You All Club. Wanna join? Dues are a roll of paper towels, commonsense ideas, and an ounce of humanity.


Dasvidaniya. Have a great weekend.
J!-E!-T!-S! JETS! JETS! JETS!
LET’S GO RANGERS!

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