Quote of the week: From Jane Goodall, doyenne of the world’s great primatologists, during an interview with Kara Swisher of the New York Times: “Well, don’t compare Trump with a chimpanzee, because it’s terribly rude to the chimpanzee."
You-Can’t-Make-This-Up Name of the Year Award goes to Rush Limbaugh’s producer. Get ready for it? All ready? You’re certain? Okay, it’s Bo Snerdley.
Psycopathic Corporate Management Award of the Month goes to a group of management executives at the Tyson Foods Company after a wrongful death lawsuit claimed they bet on how many of their employees at meat processing plants would catch coronavirus.
According to the Wall Street Journal, thousands of workers were infected. Eighty-six of the infected line workers died leaving behind grieving spouses and children. But hey, Biff and Chip in the Executive Suite just pocketed $500 each from the betting pool, so the news isn’t all bad, right?
Nation of Asswipes Award goes to nearly the entire poplation of the USA (a few of us excepted) for resuming the Great Toilet Paper Panic after a blessed pause.
What is it with virus pandemics and toilet paper? Beats me, but, “We’re headed for a product shortage and consumer panic of unprecedented proportions,” according to Burt P. Flickinger III of the consulting firm Strategic Resource Group, quoted in the Orange County, CA Register.
I don’t get it. There’s probably enough toilet paper already stashed in the closets, attics, and basements of America to burn down half of suburbia. Could we please start hoarding something else, folks? Q-tips for example? Maybe paperclips?
Bad hair, go away, come back again some other administration
If "the eyes are the window to your soul,” as Shakespeare once asserted, then what the hell is bad hair? Show me a despot, or someone telling lies for a despot, or inventing mean and terrible things for his despot boss to do, and three times out of five I’ll show you bad hair.
First and foremost there’s Donald Trump, with a comb-over that defies gravity (and probably a few other laws of nature.) More recently we’ve had Rudy Giuliani, with the only hair that, when he's under pressure, seems to bleed down his cheeks in rivulets. Then there’s Steve Miller, who tried to cover up his bald head with spray-on hair that looked like pig bristles imbedded in shoe polish. In Korea, Kim Jong-Un has a coif that defies…almost anything, from explanation to reason, to flattery.
And then there was this guy. If you’re young and wondering who owns that face and hairdo, the answer is no, that’s not Borat. That’s Mummar al-Gaddafi, the late dictator of Libya, who was badly beaten, sodomized with a bayonet, and then shot to death by his loving subjects while pleading for his life and telling the angry crowd, "God forbids this!" After that, they went after and killed three of his sons. (Trump family please take note: people are terribly fickle. Tch tch!)
4 comments:
In the beginning time, where I live anyway, it was tp, disinfectant wipes, bleach, rubbing alcohol, et. al., Weirdly, beer and wine, cookies and ice cream remained plentiful. So, practical hoarding, I guess.
Tim: Are you kidding me? What's practical about hoarding toilet paper? Do Americans poop more frequently during a pandemic? Does the Corona virus attack toilet paper milling machinery? I can understand why sane people would want a reasonable supply of toilet paper, disinfectant wipes, bleach etcetera on hand. But why would anybody want or need a basement full? Plus an attic full. Plus possibly a nuke-proof bunker with a ten year supply?
Yours very crankily,
The New York Crank
Back in the early days of the TP panic, maybe late March/early April, I passed an interesting accident on the drive to work- a pick-up and a sedan had just had a minor side-swipe accident, probably a lane-change mis-hap. Very minor, both vehicles pulled off to the side, cops already there, everything under control. Here's the interesting part- the pick-up's bed was overflowing full of rolls of TP, rolls of TP scattered across three lanes of traffic. This on 41 North out of Milwaukee, 70 miles south of the TP production capital of the world.
Seems to me that the explanation of the mystery is that TP is a stupid person's idea of a good thing to hoard.
Hey, Crank, they left me the fun stuff, is what I'm saying.
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