Table of Contents
ON MOVEMENTS AND SLOGANS
By Mitya Indursky
We are creatures of political movements and slogans, where ends justify means more often than not. Despite relentless efforts of our political PR guys, we are currently second in this department, behind some duplicitous minds of the North Korean leadership.
While domestic suits are calling for our teeth and nails in a controversial field of social justice, the North Korean ones are in business of reinventing the wheel of forced labor, thus the emphasis of their campaigns on food and missiles.
The well fed North Korean PR executives do recognize that it’s rather difficult to mass produce missiles on empty stomach, and it’s a tedious process to cook a stew out of warheads leftovers, especially if Google is absent.
I wonder if (instead of Dennis Rodman) Gordon Ramsey or Wolfgang Puck could give a handful to the Hermit Kingdom, adding necessary substance to “let’s give a decisive solution to the problem of consumer goods!” and “Make the whole country seethe with a high-pitched campaign for producing greenhouse vegetables!” calls to masses.
Our political PR geniuses should step up their efforts to bring themselves and the country back to its glory, successfully ending the long time quest for an illusive first place in this breathtaking competition.
Don’t get me wrong, they are not playing hooky, rather sweating hard to come up with new ideas to excite the nation. The latter are necessary, since we passed the point of domestic slave labor quite some time ago.
Creation of the #Me Too Movement was a brilliant idea. It had its fifteen minutes of glory, but sadly enough left a well-enjoyed limelight, either under or over achieving, depending on the side your thoughts are on. Chances are someone stumbled over a hurdle of replicating the Virgin Marie’s success on a large-scale, thus decided that some men are useful enough, despite our evident downfalls.
The Black Lives Matter organization is fading away, receiving a bit more support than the Jews for Jesus movement in Afghanistan. The Vendetta against cops proved to be as popular as the guilty conscience of some Jews profusely apologizing for an alleged crucifixion of one of their own.
The fight for transgender rights is vanishing in the haze, unable to keep people on their toes. Is it an indication that the ideas of shared bathrooms and acceptance of transgender athletes in women’s sports are a little bit… ahead of our times to put it mildly?
Of course, if I were a head of a college sports program, it would bring me joy to have a transgender “Usain Bolt” or “Henry Carlos Cejudo” on my women teams. Saying this, it would seem to be as fair as Mike Tyson challenging Nancy Pelosi to a boxing match in an expectation of a close fight instead of a well predicted fatality. I still can’t understand what stops transgender athletes in this country from having their own competitions?
Not enough blacks nominated for Oscars calls are as profound as a (would be) demand from AIPAC to MLB to pick a Jewish baseball player for the Cy Young award once in every five years. Or an (would be) angry email from the Asian American Association decrying the absence of Asian rap musicians from an overcrowded national landscape. As far as I know, the word “merit” is still in the dictionary, and its nowadays forgotten definition should be checked a bit more often.
The political PR executives should try harder to keep our teeth and nail in tact, but more important, we should try to stay slightly ahead of them, just for the sake of our own sanity, because they lost theirs to itchy hands long time ago. The first place in the tournament the politicians are playing in, is the one to refuse, because it brings more separation than unity.
By Mitya Indursky
The U.S. Congress should disassemble itself ASAP. The Capitol Nil should do it now! It has proved to be as helpful as a condom to a eunuch. There should be a call for immediate elections, prohibiting current or past members of either Chamber to run again. Let’s clean the lavatories of thought and the dungeons of poker, while hitting the incomers with the term limit slightly less than a life-time. I suggest two-four year terms for both chambers (since they are equal on paper) with midterm elections every two years. No pensions, no healthcare provided. They can cope.
The ghost of Senator Bird (spent 51 years on the Hill and died an active U.S. Senator) should vacate the premises. For G-d sake, he is not Hamlet’s father! His political longevity shouldn’t serve as a guiding light to more than a few fossils who might be entertaining an idea of keeping their jobs till their last breath. Yes, this is about Dianne Feinstein (86, in the Senate since 1992), Don Young (83, in the House since 1973), Chuck Grassley (83, in the House 1975-1981, in the Senate since 1981), Maxine Waters (81, in the House since 1991), Nancy Pelosi (79, in the House since 1987), Bernie Sanders (78, in the House 1991-2007, in the Senate since 2007), Mitch McConnell (78, in the Senate since 1985), Joe Biden (77, in the Senate for almost 35 years). The so-called power breakfast of the above bunch will look more like a last supper…
…The cable news networks have turned into a one big celebrity/doctor cesspool. Good news – – we don’t have a shortage of either aesculapians or eminences; bad news – – not enough duct tape. I’ll consider my day (of self-enforced flu leisure) poorly spent without an in-depth analysis and lifesaving tips from either side of the doctor/celebrity spectrum.-Wash your hands and quarantine yourself! I’ll repeat in Spanish “lavate las manos y ponte en cuarentena.” You better do it or you will contract it like he (whom you all know) had.
He (whom we all know) steps out from the shadows of an undisclosed luxury location.
– I should strongly urge all of you to stay home and wash your hands. Now to my Spanish speaking fans “Debería instarte a que te quedes en casa y te laves las manos.” I will show you how to do it in slow motion. You generously pour liquid soap… and by the way, I am feeling way better already!
Truly, how can a normal person wake up without an update on his or hers favorite celebrities health status.
How would I continue on if unaware whether it was a private jet or a helicopter that moved this or that schmuck from one place to another to get tested? Did he simply cough on the plane or was it a near death experience? Or does she still put her makeup on while quarantined to show her love of life? Are his guitar skills getting better compared to last year? And most important – – WHERE ARE THE KARDASHIANS?
P.S. I am kindly asking my fellow citizens to stop stocking up pasta. Italy’s state of health is rather poor at present, thus we may experience temporary shortage of the above product. Mind you, it’s not toilet paper you are rightfully so sensitive about. Please, be merciful! Thank you.
Media Endorsement DRAFT
By Mitya Indursky
The lights were on! The most anticipated event of this political cycle – the world famous media endorsement draft was just about to begin.
“See politicians like their wives have never seen them before – totally emotionally undressed! Amazingly powerful and entertaining show!” The tinnitus like pre-event advertising was screaming into the ears of the stiffed political junkies…
…The four elderly male candidates seated in the front row were ready. Let’s call them by their street names: Yellow Hair, the Salivator, the Big City Sweep and Bingo Warrior. There was no need to bring a small mirror to the fossils nostrils to see if they were breathing. The politicians were brought into shape specifically for this event – as shiny as an ice-cream scooper, dish-washed with a generous touch of a jet-dry rinse aid.
Placed behind the “runners”, the lobbyists and the big contributors were trying to play a pitcher-catcher signal game with the media executives relaxing in the box seats. The latter pillars of fair coverage rightfully remained unresponsive. All necessary arrangements were made a few days ago, thus there had been no reason to change the rules of the game. I don’t know you, you don’t know me.
Instead, the stiff lipped executives were looking down at the audience the way a flute is giving it to a beak, despite the fact that both are made of the same glass. It happens to the best of us when enjoying the fifteen minutes of glory, while the wrist watches are left winding down at home.
Nevertheless, it was media night. The executives knew who would stumble and fall victim to their demographics, advertisers and lobbyists. Moreover, they’ve also memorized by heart the results of the long and dull meetings between their owners and the candidates, the phone conferences with the either party bosses, and a short and shallow verification process following the selection. The kind of due diligence that often ends in failure, because it starts in hypocrisy.
Finally, the long awaited Michael Buffer-like figure took a hold of a mic, and the voice as tender as the sound of an unhappy wife crashing furniture, had announced the start of the draft. The local media led on. And there it went. The Shitsville Herald, AR will endorse…, the BFN Star, OK chooses…, the Odorless Swamp Courrier, LO picks…
The rejected candidates put bewildered and angry masks on their glossy faces. Well, indeed, they deeply cared about the choices of the local media. The fossils state of sorrow matched the feelings of one lion family that have just finished with the antelope, and is about to start the condolences letter. “Dear Mr&Mrs Ante, she tried to run hard but failed, we feel your pain…”
A local selection didn’t last long. It was planned this way after the stubborn organizers had finally bowed down to the candidates campaigns request. According to different virtual sources, the winning argument stated that since only one out of four fossils was bold enough…to verbally challenge the 83 year old man to an exhausting 24 hr bingo marathon-the rest might be lacking stamina.
The main media selection started from the West Coast. The Homeless Relieve Herald and the Jollywood Dellusion Chronicle had picked Bingo Warrior. The latter made it to the stage, but failed to produce anything coherent.
He was mumbling something about beautiful full moon light that made his ears miraculously change shape.
-However, my son’s ears have never changed shape, he insisted, emphasizing exclusivity of the event.
You are a mental hobbit, yelled somebody in the audience.
-You are a liar and a hobbit basher. I’m honored to have known hobbits for a long time. I play poker with them every other Friday, and they win, was fossil’s response.
To avoid further in-depth discussion of the fictional characters on live TV, the fossil’s aid-de-camp raised the bingo board with one hand, while fiercely shaking the bag full of bingo balls with another. The image accompanied by the familiar sound had produced an anticipated result.-Bingo rules, exhaled an exhausted candidate, and started his way back to the seat…
…The public was roaring, the Nielsen’s ratings were skyrocketing, while the lobbyists and the contributors went into frenzy, yelling “we order you to stop it” at the media executives. The pillars of fair coverage and objectivity were sweating, eating their cheeks, but stood tall.
While the draft was moving from West to East, the rejected candidates were unleashing themselves at the media, participating in a competition called “insult the scribblers.” The rules were pretty simple. The winner was declared by the decibel meter recording of the audience reaction to one sentence offensive line produced by the fossils.
“I’m the best you’ve ever had since yesterday when I’d lost to myself,” yelled Yellow Hair and won the competition by a landslide. The decibel meter had registered 115dB, lagging just a few behind the AC/DC concert in TD Garden in Boston. The rest of the bunch had nothing remotely modest to offer…
…When the draft had finally hit the East, the place became as mad as the group of monkeys when spotted by a tiger. The Salivator was on the verge of another anxiety attack, but calmed down when unexpectedly picked up by The New Dork Vibes and the Creamcheese Inspirer.
Sadly, he’d never made it to the stage. The lively Yellow Hair had joined forces with the Big City Sweep, and they’d succeeded in setting the Salivator’s pants on fire. The flames brought a contender down, couple of steps away from the stage. He was saved by the firefighters who had managed to extinguish both the fire and the toasted fossil in time.
As everyone expected, The Dullmeat Normal had picked a Yellow Hair, who had failed to make it to the stage as well. He was incapacitated by his fellow opponents. They had artfully pinned Yellow Hair to the chair, and started torturing him by showing happy childhood pictures of the unique, self-excavated Female Mummy and the Pencil Neck Instigator who were known as the Yellow Hairs worst nightmares.
After the torture was over, the three fossils turned to the excited audience and started applauding their own achievements. Bingo Warrior’s palms were hurting.
The One City’s Done and the Smashed Hopes Lost had selected the Big City Sweep. The latter went on stage without a problem, but was unable to come up with a single word until the prepped speech was delivered by the aid-de-camp. The aid got a boot, while the Big City Sweep had produced something inaudible, tore the speech to pieces, cursed the crowd and the media executives, threw the mic on the floor, and rudely ordered his entourage to prep his jet to London right away…chop chop wankers!
On that high note the Michael Buffer-like figure had picked up the mic and bulldozed the show to the closing. The sound of “When the Saints Go Marching In” made the reluctant audience leave the seats. The public was laughing on the way out, and the “chop chop wankers” was heard all the way to the nearest subway accompanied by cries “mental hobbit.”
The fossils were smiling and exchanging handshakes. Bingo Warrior was complaining about always being misunderstood. The Salivator was still in competition mode, anxiously explaining his enchanting plan to make everybody happy once and for all.
-He is a great trillions juggler, thought the brace of fossils politely listening and wiping their faces until they ran out of napkins, thus retreated.
A few days later, Yellow Hair had sent the new and expensive pair of pants to The Salivator’s household together with the box of matches and the note, ”Do it yourself next time.” In an interview following the receipt of the shipment, The Salivator promised to auction his pants, and donate the proceeds to the struggling United Cactus Unlimited, Palestinian Refugee Coop located somewhere in western Detroit. He was seen wearing it few weeks later.
Yellow Hair, in turn, missed no chance to promote his goodwill gesture on Bitter, while accusing the Big City Sweep of breaking the promise to chip in for the pants. The Big City Sweep responded swiftly. On Wednesday mid afternoon, a mail delivery truck with Canadian license plates stopped at the gates of Yellow Hair’s residence.
A young couple cursing in Her Majesty’s tongue with the slight Californian accent dragged a heavy cotton bag at the door… by 4am the family and the stuff of the Yellow Hair’s mansion had finished counting Royal pennies. There were twenty thousand of them.
The media executives had shared a prolonged night cap tweaking the rules of the next endorsement draft. The idea of making it a world media event was rejected by the attorneys called in. They’d reminded the executives that the law may see it as an interference in the election process. Otherwise, they gave it a go. Truly nothing highlights objectivity and fairness of the media more than the endorsement draft, the executives joyfully exclaimed. Cheers!
The Big Peephole Times
By Mitya Indursky
As of yesterday, I’ve decided to become a lonely fighter for politicians privacy rights. I think you are familiar with the creatures I’m talking about. The Royal Penguins of mind as they would like us (presumably the small penguins of thought) to think of them. The ones that looked decent enough before we’ve moved them to Washington to represent us. Since then, our duly elected politicians insist on following us everywhere we go. Car, subway, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. Any place, where the mighty visual, on-line or print peephole can suck us in!
And, we allow them into our private quarters, while fully aware that their respect for us largely matches their ability to implement their promises. They fancy the high life in Washington, thus need us to extend the pleasure.
To me, these suits are like disgusting beefaroni I was forced to eat in the kindergarten a long time ago. The ones that may easily ruin the shaky peace between you and your ever hungry but tender kitchen sink pipes. The everlasting quality product a.k.a mushy substance they call beef. As healthy as chewing on a nuclear bomb detonator. It was also famous for changing color when disturbed.
Politicians, like bothered beefaroni tend to change political colors according to your liking. Fascinating to watch, especially during the election season. I heard the chameleons are just about to send an official delegation to the nations capital to learn the ropes!
Oh, I forgot to mention another important quality – they love fake public apologies combined with crying. G-d loving and forgiving people – we’ll award Azazel (Devil) with probation, especially if its eyes washing liquid keeps pouring like a good wine from the magnum size bottle. The more the merrier.
However, the tears happen to be real only if the punishment is severe enough. It’s all about lost perks and exposure, baby.
Despite all of the above, I think they deserve privacy as do we all. Mainly from the huge peephole the public is always fascinated to look into. Thus, I am ready to embark on the scary, possibly life changing journey. No followers needed. A 501 C3 won’t be formed. Apologies ladies and gents, but I have my reason for going solo.
I don’t like movements, crowds and cults. A good number of them would eventually slide into an abyss by walking down either self mutilation or self destructive paths. Largely, via virtual or literal assassinations of its own, or by engaging in the very same kind of warfare against those who decline to join them. Or both. Thank you, but count me out.
The first victim of the internal political fight to be defended is a poor ex-congresswoman Katie Hill. She is one good looking woman the recently unearthed and unwrapped mummy of Madam Speaker should be jealous of. Have no idea what Hill’s political stance is, and it truly does not matter to me.
Let me quickly refresh your memory. In the eyes of the House Ethics Committee she’d committed a crime by having a relationship with her aid (s). The House rules do prohibit a member of Congress to have a relationship with his or hers staffers.
Now, where should I start? I have a lot of questions prompted by natural curiosity. Please, politely explain to me (don’t get excited, it’s a rhetorical one) why a member of Congress is not allowed to have a CONSENSUAL sexual relationship with his or her entourage? Given, that the latter is or are of a LEGAL age, of course.
Are they different from us when it comes to this department, or is it the residue from the infamous Sodomy laws that were enacted when people had playful ideas about the shape of the Earth?
Or was it somebody’s well orchestrated plan implemented by the ruthless D.C. meteorologist issuing a warning to the House Committee on Ethics? “Dear Ladies and Gentlemen of the Committee on Ethics, the mighty Doppler radar has showed red river water, hail, locusts, frogs and darkness approaching the immediate area of Capitol Hill from all sides. If you don’t make Katie Hill resign, years of underground seclusion will be your only destiny!”…
Or maybe I should start checking under the bed to see if all ten members of the House Ethics Committee are comfortable enough down there? Coffee and bagels, anybody?…
…Whose business but the peep’s one it is to look into a keyhole, and deliver the news to the highly moral and watchful public as we indeed are! Though, we are humble enough to admit that we are no strangers to the “crime” in question. Moreover, we’ll quickly zip it up if it happens to us or our peers, but will be ready to scar a life if a politician is involved…
The fact that we are looking at our representatives as we are looking at the monuments, while being well aware that they are not – is one of the greatest hypocrisies ever.
As far as I remember, Bill Clinton, one of the tallest political monuments to many, together with his charming wife and the media, had ruined the life of one adventurous Monica Lewinski. You knew I would land there. Not only was Bill married at that time of the affair, but had fiercely denied the frivolous encounter, until the proof arrived.
He was impeached for lying under oath, but continued on in the White House. Probably on the couch, far away from the Lincoln bedroom, but whose loss (if any) was it but his? I doubt he shed a tear while I question the validity of the inquiry, thus the lie that followed.
Once again, I am not a fan of the mud-grazed family mentioned above, but in this case, it’s nobody’s business who Bill had consensual sex with. Except, his and Hillarie’s.
And the same rule applies to JFK, yet another statue a lot of us are looking up to. Especially, those who consider Seymour Hersh’s The Dark Side of Camelot a blasphemy.
It seems that Katie Hill paid somebody elses debts while being debt free. I think that any politician’s private life should be shielded as much as the life of their kids. Wishful thinking it is though, because we are living in the times when a big peephole is running the show. Thanks to millions of spectators like you and me who are itching to take a sneak peak if and when available.
We need to be assured that the country produces enough ophthalmologists to prevent mass cases of legal blindness in the near future.
The power of pleasing
By Mitya Indursky
I am not supposed to have a grudge against either Jeff Bezos of Amazon or Richard Schultze of Best Buy. After all, bread haven’t been broken between us. And yet… ! I would love to see Jeff hand and in hand with Richard popping up at my door on one of these days. Reason- something smells funny in their respective aquariums. And it’s not fish!
First with Mr. Bezos. No lunch or coffee upon arrival, Jeff! Please, hand me the box with the magnetic car mount and the fancy tumbler. We shake hands, you mumble “I’m sorry”, and off you go. To calm down yet another guy who is just a bit annoyed waiting for his complete order…since his wife stopped breastfeeding their kids twenty years ago.
Especially, the tumbler! Why on Earth, did you send me the thermos lid without a canister to attach it to! Do you know anybody who is capable of… well, if you do, please share his name and a conference room number in Bellevue. I’ll take off a very sick day to celebrate mental sickness month with the poor schmuck over there.
Otherwise, please be advised that I’ve ordered the stuff over a span of two months, and the tchatchkes seem to have an awfully long party somewhere well beyond dimension X. Chances are, together with the numerous things missing from my washing machine.
Prefacing readers who may start judging my character mistakenly associating it with my order, (G-d forbid the latter included a gun degreaser or a pair of stockings without a note to Jennifer), let me stop you cold to say that I don’t care! It was my order intended to please myself during my trips across the country! Moreover, I paid for it. In dollars, mind you. I was reimbursed later, but what’s the use if I timed everything to have it on my now long passed journey!
The dollar will not hold your phone, and the greenback is not known for keeping coffee hot. I beg you not to try it in the car or in public. I am not responsible for your mental and financial losses, not to mention an eternal embarrassment enabled by YouTube.
….Of course, one dollar won’t get you anywhere. Thank you, but I am well aware of that. Purchase a couple of stamps, and it would make a greenback a popper… but, having a few, should make the centuries old paper-for-goodies exchange guaranteed. If not, we would have been way back-in-time weighting on our bartering options…
…On the other hand, I wonder, why my utility and other bills are always delivered in full and on time. It should be a little bit tiresome and dull for them to appear in my mail box on the same day month after month. Is the USPS that much better than the Amazon delivery service? I doubt it, but am positive these bills need a breather in a happy place where my tumbler is now! Preferably a prolonged vacation with the no return option exercised…
… Apologies for interrupting myself with this semi-AOC/Sanders/Warren like thoughts. Utopian populism is contagious. Let’s move to Mr. Schultze. It’s not polite to keep people waiting, right? As a matter of fact, I won’t serve him coffee or lunch either. I praise myself for being an equal opportunity employer.
After an uplifting encounter with the Amazon delivery, I decided not to lose time, and found myself in a local Best Buy. I was longing after the tumbler, and Google had guided me to the right spot. Or so I thought!
There is a lot in common between huge department, electronic and home improvement stores. They seem to employ people who think they are working there. They are terribly wrong! More often than not, when I pop up with my questions and needs, the majority of folks there are either totally clueless or are taking cover. Were they tipped off? If so, who did it? Because I never announce my arrival.
Now, back to the Best Buy. The store was lit as bright as Yankee stadium, but promisingly empty. My kind of time, I thought. First, I decided to give exhausted people on the floor a break, and try to find the tumbler myself. Give me your tired… You got it! Thank me later. Right move, wrong result. After five minutes of wondering, I found the corner shelf in the unknown section where the tumblers were resting. Not my tumbler, though. Mine was absent or hiding in an undisclosed location, together with the shy employees. Or maybe it went to a family reunion with the brother Amazon decided I can manage without.
In any case, a bit frustrated I’ve consulted the store’s website once again. The picture of my tumbler was still in tact, together with the claim of possession that I mistakenly deciphered as an affirmative one. Fine, I thought. I’ve covered only one fourth of the store. The future is bright, the journey is long, but let me save time and ask for help.
And there he was-a well groomed bearded guy with the trendy glasses on, holding a lap top and the CB radio-producing an unquestionable image of seniority and knowledge. After my short explanation, the store’s GM picked the CB radio and conveyed my question to the widely dispersed employees. It should be in the auto section, responded his subordinate… standing ten feet away from us.
I felt like an awkward dinosaur. The auto section in the Best Buy? Why? What are they selling there – tv enabled tires? I decided not to over complicate the situation with my ignorance, and followed GM to the auto section.
-Why did they put the tumblers in the auto section? he asked me, as if he had absolutely nothing to do with it? They keep reshuffling the stuff all the time, he complained.
I share your pain, I replied, trying to gasp as much air as I could.
Finally we’ve reached the shining city on the auto hill, but the tumbler was not there.-Strange, GM said. Let’s try another section. He took me to the corner of the Best Buy’s planet, where I’d started my journey.
-I have a feeling we don’t have it here either, he sadly exhaled. It was impossible to disagree with this notion.
-Let me look it up, rather than walking around the store, he pronounced with relative optimism.
Timely idea, I was about to say, but held my horses.
-Yup, we don’t have it… and he went silent for a good five seconds staring at me.
I was just about to say And… but again, decided not to start it. Can you order it for me, so I can pick it up at the store, was my reply instead.
-Yes, indeed, GM said.
After finishing with formalities, he looked into his computer and went on
-We have a slight issue, though.
Only one, I whispered.
-We can’t deliver it to the store. Only to your residence.
Are you in the middle of an argument with the Tumbler manufacturer, I’ve asked.
-No, he replied. Why?
Never mind, I said and left the store.
I have no idea what Bezos and Schultze are busy with at present, but do insist they should put it aside and jet to my place. We need to have a brief face to face meeting. Otherwise, I will move to Bellevue taking both of them with me by hook or by crook.
We will be in desperate need of educating ourselves. That schmuck in Bellevue will give us a crash course on the subject of the hot coffee storage options using the detached thermos lid. Chances are he also knows something about logistics and customer service, we don’t. I am not looking forward to it.
An anti-neanderthal league or a missed opportunity
By Mitya Indursky
The LEDs ( light-emitting diodes) of our freedom – – Al Sharpton, Rob Reiner, Robert DeNiro, Nancy (the Shredder) Pelosi, Fading Hillary Clinton, Sincere Ilhan Omar and White Supremacists missed a unique opportunity for a joint show up in Princeton, NJ.
It would be a great day for the mentioned above concerned citizens to show a “healthy” sign of unification-in-hate, thanks to a great discovery recently made by Princeton U scientists. The latter found that present African populations as well as non-African ones have some Neanderthal genes left in them. (New study identifies Neanderthal ancestry in African populations and describes its origin).
Imagine, these “healthy” leftovers are sitting in me, in you, in my buddies Akiba, Guy, Devin and Amorous John, as well as in Sharpton, Reiner, DeNiro, White Supremacists, Fading Hillary, Sincere Ilhan Omar and, even in Nancy (the Shredder) Pelosi! Wow! I can totally see it looking at the LEDs list. Moreover, I think that the latter honorable individuals do proudly carry a bit more than two percent of Neanderthal heritage enjoyed by most of us.
According to my humble observations and quick research, the LEDs enlarged percentage of Neanderthal gene spillover should be indicative of their militant, warrior type ancestry, based on exceptional verbal abilities ( https://youtu.be/o589CAu73UM ) and razor sharp motor skills. Unlike, for example, Jim Carry, who is rather unique, representing the lagging creative side of Neanderthals, taking his inspiration from the cave drawings of our very distant predecessors (https://www.ucdavis.edu/news/neanderthals-lack-drawing-ability-may-relate-hunting-techniques/).
Saying this, I presume that the LEDs would strongly disagree with my non-scientific conclusions based exclusively on a brief analysis of their dignified behavior. I also presume that they may turn on their ancestral aggressive mood, fiercely protesting presence of any unfortunate heritage in them. For very different reasons, indeed.
Al Sharpton and White Supremacists should be in agreement rebuking any whiff of existence of the intertwined Neanderthal genes within their respective selves. I can paint a picture where, in addition to untranslatable sounds of mutual frustration, they would pride themselves using different fingers to emphasize their opponents’ genetic proximity to the distant relatives in question.
Rob Reiner, Robert DeNiro, Fading Hillary, Sincere Ilhan Omar and Nancy (the Shredder) Pelosi would be approaching the issue from a very different, more acceptive and thoughtful angle. It could happen as of following below.
While Madam Shredder was showing her unforgettable motor skill in tearing apart the Princeton U research paper, Messrs. DeNiro and Reiner together with Fading Hillary and Sincere Ilhan Omar will be giving this emotional performance a vocal accompaniment.
By producing basic, but well-known high pitch sounds, the above quartet explained to the audience and the media the reason behind their very limited agreement with the scientific discovery. Their argument was based on a notion that they have no aforementioned genes, thanks to a successful squeezing of a Neanderthal or two out of their bodies long time ago, unlike the despicable occupant of the White House and his highly primitive administration.
The gathering was finalized by the LEDs calling on Princeton U to stop funding an unhealthy research, and create an Anti-Neanderthal League (ANL). Both exceptional ideas received a unanimous consent by participating parties.
A representative of a well-known laxative manufacturer promised a sizable donation to the would be formed entity under the slogan “smooth Neanderthal squeeze daily.” Jim Carry sent his best regards, accompanied by some preliminary drawings of the ANL logo that can’t be posted here due to explicit content.
P.S. Mr. Trump’s Twitter account was mute that day. The WH press core managed to find out that Donald J. Trump was awaiting results of his DNA test, and its comparison to the LEDS ones provided by his Janitor Union supporters on Capitol Hill. Nailed to the wall, the WH press office promised to unveil data after the upcoming Presidential Election. According to the media source, the results are largely identical, showing relatively high percentage of Neanderthal genes in all samples.
Scarce thoughts caused by scary flu
By Mitya Indursky
The U.S. Congress should disassemble itself ASAP. The Capitol Nil should do it now! It has proved to be as helpful as a condom to a eunuch. There should be a call for immediate elections, prohibiting current or past members of either Chamber to run again.
Let’s clean the lavatories of thought and the dungeons of poker, while hitting the incomers with the term limit slightly less than a life-time. I suggest two-four year terms for both chambers (since they are equal on paper) with midterm elections every two years. No pensions, no healthcare provided. They can cope.
The ghost of Senator Bird (spent 51 years on the Hill and died an active U.S. Senator) should vacate the premises. For G-d sake, he is not Hamlet’s father! His political longevity shouldn’t serve as a guiding light to more than a few fossils who might be entertaining an idea of keeping their jobs till their last breath.
Yes, this is about Dianne Feinstein (86, in the Senate since 1992), Don Young (83, in the House since 1973), Chuck Grassley (83, in the House 1975-1981, in the Senate since 1981), Maxine Waters (81, in the House since 1991), Nancy Pelosi (79, in the House since 1987), Bernie Sanders (78, in the House 1991-2007, in the Senate since 2007), Mitch McConnell (78, in the Senate since 1985), Joe Biden (77, in the Senate for almost 35 years).
THE SO-CALLED POWER BREAKFAST OF THE ABOVE BUNCH WILL LOOK MORE LIKE A CROWDED LAST SUPPER…
…The cable news networks have turned into a one big celebrity/doctor cesspool. Good news – – we don’t have a shortage of either aesculapians or eminences; bad news – – not enough duct tape. I’ll consider my day (of self-enforced flu leisure) poorly spent without an in-depth analysis and lifesaving tips from either side of the doctor/celebrity spectrum.
-Wash your hands and quarantine yourself! I’ll repeat in Spanish “lavate las manos y ponte en cuarentena.” You better do it or you will contract it like he (whom you all know) had.
He (whom we all know) steps out from the shadows of an undisclosed luxury location.
– I should strongly urge all of you to stay home and wash your hands. Now to my Spanish speaking fans “Debería instarte a que te quedes en casa y te laves las manos.” I will show you how to do it in slow motion. You generously pour liquid soap… and by the way, I am feeling way better already!
Truly, how can a normal person wake up without an update on his or hers favorite celebrities health status. How would I continue on if unaware whether it was a private jet or a helicopter that moved this or that schmuck from one place to another to get tested? Did he simply cough on the plane or was it a near death experience? Or does she still put her makeup on while quarantined to show her love of life? Are his guitar skills getting better compared to last year? And most important – – WHERE ARE THE KARDASHIANS?
P.S. I am kindly asking my fellow citizens to stop stocking up pasta. Italy’s state of health is rather poor at present, thus we may experience temporary shortage of the above product. Mind you, it’s not toilet paper you are rightfully so sensitive about. Please, be merciful! Thank you.
The Atlantis of Lesly Stahl
By Mitya Indursky
Let’s start it as a cheap daytime drama, despite the fact that it was a prime time fondue. Here we go.
Oh, Mrs. Stahl! If only I could read minds! Especially the one that belongs to you! If I had two weeks heads up prior to your 60 min online hate inquest of the YouTube CEO Susan Wojcicki, I would try to tweak some of the thoughts that (I hope) are solemnly yours.
I was ready to do anything. For a fortnight, I would disguise myself as your one man driver, maid, butler and chef. Your morning bagels would be served toasted, accompanied by the fresh lox from Zabars, dozens of roses, and tear drops infused love letters (sorry Mr. Latham) – in order to prevent you from coming out of the NBC closet in an utter nakedness of mind.
Would have, could have, should have. I’d failed miserably. Please, forgive me……Bad script, bad acting! Stylist, where is my hankie to wipe my fake tears!
Let’s jump into the shallow waters of Mrs.Stahl/NBC verbalized thoughts without further drama, hesitation or delay. There are two points to be made.
A. Trendy or naive?
Either Leslie Stahl is conscientiously supporting a highly politicized White Supremacy trend or she is naive beyond her worst nightmares. Mrs. Stahl, the White Supremacy is not the main problem we and the world are facing when it comes to the crime of hate!
The overall hate is what we suffer from! Whites, Blacks, Latinos, Asians, Catholics, Protestants, Muslims, Jews, and the list goes on…
…Follow me. Indeed, it is true that some of the whites violently hate some of the blacks, as it is also true that some of the blacks are happy to reciprocate. At the same time I doubt that anyone remotely sane will argue that some white and black dudes pride themselves for hating Jews… thus offering their exhausted minds to an explosive creativity of those Arabs who hate Jews even more;
Will it be correct to say that some of the whites and the blacks hate some of Muslims, and Latinos (outside of those who scrub their floors,) and Italians, who in turn hate some of Jews and some of blacks; and how about some of Asians who despise some of their own, and some of blacks and some of whites alike. Should I continue?
…Have no idea though if Asians hate Jews. What for? We make their year every Christmas packing their restaurants to the gills.
Oh, I almost forgot the mentally deranged, thus estranged all-inclusive Antifa movement. It seems to hate everyone who can tell time by looking at the watches and not at the Sun.
All of these nature mistakes are alive, kicking and grouping online. Wonderful! I love each and every moment of it-unlike the naive or the pre-election market driven Lesley Stahl. And that will bring me to the second point.
B. The jaguar experiment
Prior to Al Gore’s courageous Internet invention claim, the bright sparks of hate were quietly successful in finding each other in the dark alleys of different neighborhoods or by an acute sense of smell. Thus, leaving us barely aware of their doings until the latter spilled outside. After the Aliens had sent us back, knowledge enabled Al Gore, a significant part of the above activity had moved online. Easier for them and easier for us!
One should know his or her enemies. If the latter are sound and afloat (pun intended)- it makes the overall effort way less tedious than looking for them all over the place. Thus, we should encourage their desire to place videos and verbally express themselves online, to bring their friends into the chat rooms to strengthen their stone aged-like arguments, exploiting the First Amendment. If they stop doing it, we’ll find ourselves in the relative dark yet again!
The moth beaten but best understood analogy is the black cat in the dark room. How about conducting an experiment, Mrs. Stahl? Do you have a black cat? Or better, a jaguar. Cats are slightly more peaceful. Can you ask your producer to borrow one from the Bronx Zoo? If you do, please turn off the lights in the studio, and ask somebody to find the creature. I can’t insist on you boldly going in, it would be highly inappropriate… You will interview the jaguar on the subject of nutrition soon afterwards… Good luck!
I am Jewish, as you are, Mrs. Stahl. What I’ve learned and remember- you seemed to conveniently forget. Hate has no color, because all colors do hate! Saying this, I also know that as a society we are making more than one step at a time to deal with it. Is it difficult – – indeed it is, but way better than preaching to either a highly politically calculated or a highly naive but a very scary narrative of online restrictions.
According to Stahl’s way of thinking, the restrictions would bring us to an evasive Atlantis way speedier than we anticipate. If you believe in Atlantis, then you know that its hideout place should be somewhere under water. Makes it difficult to breath and move down there, doesn’t it? As it happens in any other place that dwells on restrictions. I’ve been to one or two of those. The racial and religious hate is still there, and the happiness is a highly elusive commodity.
Disclosure: I was neither contacted, nor asked or paid for this piece by YouTube.com or by any other interested party;
And when the old go marching…
By Mitya Indursky
I don’t want to be Joe Biden, Bernie Sanders, Michael Bloomberg or Donald Trump. There is no desire in me to replicate their political careers or share some of their political beliefs. The latter ones seem to be adjusted faster than this countries quarterly reports on the rabbit population surplus.
Age wise, of course I am envious, hoping to be there one day. Alive and free from partial amnesia, involuntary drooling, age related grumpiness, extensively dyed hair and an out-of-this-world enjoyment when navigating the voice-activated wheel chair.
Yet, if I were one or all of the above four cracked pillars of the modern American politics, I wouldn’t run for anything. Except on a treadmill with a highly trained nurse alongside, holding the state-of-the art defibrillator ready. I don’t think the nation will be thrilled to wake up (soon after Presidential elections) to the scene of a riderless horse with the empty boots reversed in the stirrups.
I understand that my sincere advise is not worth a penny, but I hope that either Biden, Sanders or Bloomberg will at least consider introducing a younger VP. This means letting Elizabeth Warren fully open herself up to a continuous enjoyment of the wide plains of New England. She is rapidly reaching the age of political and mental wisdom of the above quartet, and it scares an Indian out of me!
Hopefully, the Democratic Party will make a relatively sane VP choice. I am not asking too much. Just make a mental effort to select somebody with two noodles instead of one that AOC, Tlaib and Ilhan Omar are repeatedly using to entertain the public with.
President Trump, on the other hand, should keep Mike Pence in. First and foremost, he is only sixty years old. It’s an amazing natural advantage. Yes, Mr. Pence is a bit too religious for my taste, but way more subdued than his Blistered Twitter Hands partner. In fact, so subdued, that for the first couple of months of the Trump presidency I was almost convinced that Mr. Pence was a mute. Personally, I would prefer Nikki Haley, but she is too smart and vocal to become speechless overnight.
This brings me to the damn problem of the Vice Presidency in this country. In most cases, the VPs chosen by either party elites are either too obedient or slightly soft minded. Indeed, there had been a few exceptions, only to prove the general rule of mental relativity.
I understand the rock and the hard place dilemma am facing, but will still go for the younger VP choice. If not for political, then for practical reasons. We are not accustomed to bid farewell to a brace of leaders during a single presidency. The thrill won’t be there, baby!