Oil increases now upsetting you, in this wanton war with Iran, opposed by even young GOP voters? Trump just calls it “a little glitch” and “temporary.” Like we heard on the economy and affordability? Would $4 gas a gallon be so? Five dollars would be gargantuan. Except in California. Or maybe Texas, with a tank the size of one of their bigger gallon cowboy hats. It’s there a shuttered refinery has been retapped, bringing the oil back to tap like in old beer at a dive bar.
What will $90 get you with today’s prices? A barrel of crude oil or better yet, one of candied maple syrup, I’ll bet? You betcha.* From right here in Wisconsin, which is unlikely to be bombed back by Iran, being in the middle of the country, (see below). So syrup keeps flowing in this state that because of the difference in cold winter (a bit) and hot summer (a lot) in this period, is seeing some of the highest production rates ever of syrup from our millions of maple trees, and this too has attracted a lot of media attention, and not just from the Midwest. For once global warming is sweet. Also in most places to the overseas, and even same continent, as well, although you never know potentially/hypothetically what tariffs could do to costs gained or incurred or paid (they’re two different things). As right back at you, Oh Canada’s imports too. So Candy O. Sugary syrup. Or syrupy sugar?
— In other eats, last call, almost, for Lenten (and many March Madness) specials, virtually all over town at the sports bars. But for example, if you want to get the garlic sauteed mussels at Dick’s Bar and Grill for $10.95, for example, the time is now. To go with their killer buckets of five beers offered, bottles or otherwise, all for a Benjamin or less, leading the way for other iced tins to follow suit. The local Knights of Columbus fish dinner, attended by hundreds, is also closing out its year soon. Continuing on from cod to UConn, out where they harvest it, my fave because it just sounds so cool, the Madness is taking a hold in Hudson, with downtown Brick’s Pizza making the suggestion that you submit to a contest your pizza that you’ve made — do you remember the ingredients used. Sans most fish, but with anchovies? — and it might end up on their menu! Maybe throw in some of the mussels you got at Dick’s, a different twist on Lent, and you have a party times two. —
(*Actual price may vary and range widely; you know, volatility of the stock market, again in effect. Downer side of “Dow”-er. Light versions are up to $5 more. Oh wait, that’s less. Oil pan and pancakes extra.)
I had a vision, I saw the warrin’ and the sea had turned round, exudes Ozzy while elbalmed. That being the maple nuts or nuggets that I saw in a dream had formed full balls, along a flat shelf, then were rolling down a slope of varying heights, going to markets or like the markets, to fly on down from above and take out drones. (For a barrel of fun. Or monkeys. Or machine gun hands.) The sticky balls needed a coat of flour first to create a slippery slope. A secondary use to bolster sales for the Supreme Leader Maple Syrup Producer — the next on the hit list — combining with his ramp a ladle and spoon at the end.
Maybe more likely to fall, (to evil forces, here or abroad), is Trump himself. Next time. So don’t go out of your way to piss people off.
Way back, now year’s back, there was what was called “the first assassination attempt,” by a journalist. Implying there would be more coming.
This time it was Iran, Stan, with my apologies to Paul Simon for being glib. It had been domestic, Brad, Ben, Tom and Mick. OK that would be five. Am I ahead of myself? Or will I someday be guilty of having fallen behind. The latest to try to take out Trump has in turn been taken out, by allies.
Russia won’t join the ranks. It has vested interest for keeping Trump alive, so they can play him, and it’s easier than, and as risky as, five card stud. Or The Ace of Spades. A lot of these issues fall under the category of decrying enforced conscription, and yes the draft my again be acoming, as the wars proliferate. Listen to Metallica and Motorhead. The same old scene as in 1916.
But you can’t shoot Barron. He won’t be in the armed forces anytime soon. He has an exemption for extra inches. Oh, that would be in his tallness. He is 6-foot-7, and that’s too high for many soldierly tasks. All in those involving large height. Especially if someone is a full extra inch taller than him. But if they have big hands and feet and other to put to use? Surely there is something he can do?
They apparently thought his dad couldn’t, as he was sidelined too, for foot bone spurs. Oddly, despite the medical and army trouble, he never had any surgery for them. Maybe Barron could donate an inch or two in an op to fix the spurs of his father, and in turn his father — albiet the danger of creating a Transylvanian topical Frankenstein’s monster more scary than a combo Trump and Vance, and a bit of RFK Jr. and Dr. Oz thrown in — and shrink him to 6-foot-5 at the same time. (We know the family thrives on daddy issues.) That on the grandad’s dime for a doctor who gave Trump an evaluation for an exemption slip, and could give them such a surgery referral, too, but wait, they forgot his name. Somewhere in Manhattan? But no organ donation acoming, although the storm is.
The reason cited for not putting a 6-foot-7 man on the front lines is that they have to crouch in small spaces, and the taller you are the more inches you have to fit in. OK. But isn’t it literally being put into this kind of box a form of torture that we as a country subject both soldiers and civilians to if they are our enemies. So since this is seen as an acceptable practice, boo hoo Barron’s draft status.
I will however, to draw another comparison, refer to the Biblical imperitive to bow out for anyone who does not feel they are mentally or physically able to conduct warfare and be relied upon by your fellow soldiers. But are other basketball-player-height people allowed to be exempt? Is any 19-year-old truly ready? But basically Barron, as Styx sings, “You’re not a child anymore.”
Where is it I want to be when the now inevitable nukes hit? On a chair-size harbor marker, but way off into the sea I’ll sit, just me and my cell phone to check what The Donald has done next. And who he has bombed. On my little island of sand? Far from any metro area and Moscow and let’s see if a drone can hit my one square meter. Hard and not high target. In a place that’s gotta be mid-Pacific. Where there are the pacifists. When the nuclear winter ends, can a prime golfer come fly me back home — on his private jet as air travel has been cut back to basically only the most needed — when not on the LIV tour. Just don’t take me to China, where the golfers rescued go. Saudi Arabia maybe. Sand traps everywhere.
Where else, if you still can travel and choose? If you had to embark for Chicago like my buddy at the ungodly time of 6:30 a.m. Monday? Didn’t the business forces that be know about that consideration Friday quite early-afternoon? Climbing onboard to go early to the weekend cabin? Hey, do not depart to Dubia. It’s like the last plane, train or automobile to Clarksville. Instead, go to Greenland and Iceland, and likely wanna be there before annexation. These countries are on a list of the 12 least likely to be bombed out by an atomic one, and also ranked in The Big 12 is a place of 11,000 people between Hawaii and the mainland portion of not the often referenced China, but the United States. This island nation has few people and even fewer minerals, so nobody wants them, least of all Trump. Not worth expending that other mineral, plutonium. Or is it now uranium.
While we’re at it, should we just declare the GOP a terrorist organization? Was that the question that truly wrankled Trump? Or was it can bees make honey or maple syrup in the (good for filtering) rain? Or can the Grand Old Party protect us from getting bombed out if anywhere between Cylon in the heart of Wisconsin and Siberia in the heart of the Soviet Union, going laterally either direction?