Thanksgiving Meme

You know what song is gonna be the theme this week, dontcha?

Hillary is a meme

Just kidding, no Hillary memes, just getting you going.

This could be the H2 theme song.

This is what the read more button looks like, Car in:

HHD

Good morning, and welcome to another edition of Hunky Hump Day. This one is going to be shortchanged, as I worked overtime today, dealt with picking up a car from the shop, and will have to get up in the wee hours to go catch a plane. I like the hunks but not for giving up sleep.
Mr. RFH and I had dinner one night last week at Huddle House. Sober, which I didn’t think was allowed. This song came on, and we sang along, because it was Huddle House, despite being sober.

If you haven’t seen the cartoon, it’s here.
Now for the hunks.

Weekend Metal

Thorsday Substitute Poat

Since Jimbro is off in the mountains receiving a heavy load from some shady contractor, I’ve agreed to put up a poat.  The old one was smelling worse than your mom after Fleet Week.  We haven’t had a rip-roaring, honest-to-God hurt feelings fight on this blog in far too long, so let’s talk about music.

So, I’m about two weeks out from leaving my job, and by the time you read this I will hopefully have an offer for a new job outside of California.  Even if I don’t, I’m still leaving this state.  And that means one thing… ROADTRIP!  For the past nine months I’ve driven 45-75 minutes each way up to Santa Barbara each day for work.  Obviously, spending that much time on the road means listening to the radio a lot.  Thank the gods for Pandora, and Youtube on my phone.  So I thought I’d put together a list of some of my favorite songs to listen to while driving.  I decided to limit it to ten songs, about what I used to burn on a CD before a long road-trip.  Obviously there are others, but if I had to pick ten to listen to for a couple of hours in parts of the country where the only radio stations are messican polka and the baptist station... the mixture below would be my top choice. Yeah, some of them are covers, but they’re better than the originals for keeping me awake and focused while on the road.

David Brooks is the Sandwich Artist of Virtue Signaling

From the NYTimes, so don’t click.

Recently I took a friend with only a high school degree to lunch. Insensitively, I led her into a gourmet sandwich shop. Suddenly I saw her face freeze up as she was confronted with sandwiches named “Padrino” and “Pomodoro” and ingredients like soppressata, capicollo and a striata baguette. I quickly asked her if she wanted to go somewhere else and she anxiously nodded yes and we ate Mexican.

American upper-middle-class culture (where the opportunities are) is now laced with cultural signifiers that are completely illegible unless you happen to have grown up in this class. They play on the normal human fear of humiliation and exclusion. Their chief message is, “You are not welcome here.”

–David Brooks

HHD – Bond, James Bond edition

Good morning, and welcome to another edition of Hunky Hump Day. As we bid farewell to Roger Moore, it seemed like a good time to have a James Bond edition of HHD.
Also, farewell too soon to Chris Cornell. Rest in peace.

In random order, George Lazenby.

Fuck These Fucking Fucks, FFS

 

So here we are, 100 days into the glorious reign of the God Emperor Donaldus Trump II.

Is America great again? No, but its early. Like you, my patience is about as thin as Mare’s Whoreday panties and I do not trust a single person that is connected to Washington DC.

 

The Bad

Repeal/Replace–May the RINOs of the senate be rushed to the ER with a lightbulb stuck in their collective asses. Upon removal they may find a bright idea, such as repeal/replace. It’s not complicated, assholes.

The budget–May the Freedom Caucus step on their dicks with golf shoes for having the temerity to sink repeal/replace only to turn around and fund PP for the rest of the fiscal year.

 

The Good

Border crossings are down 70+% based solely on a mean look from the based cheeto god. My suggestion is that he get a teardrop tattoo on his cheek then watch the number climb to 90%.

The world seems to think we might be crazy enough to kick ass and drink Diet Coke. They also seem to believe we are running low on Diet Coke.

Neil Fucking Gorsuch.

Serious note–people seem to be more optimistic about the future. I don’t really talk politics much in public but I don’t feel the weight of the pessimism that is being pushed by the media. Things seem good, which may be a reflection on where I live and how life is going, but it really matters when the people at the top are confident of success rather than dead set on decline. We’ve been told to eat our veggies for so long that a delicious taco bowl (we have the best taco bowl’s, don’t we folks?) seems like manna from heaven. It’s just taco Tuesday, but goddamn that seems like a fine idea.

The Ugly

The media and the DNC (Hillary/Obama wing) are pushing some really dangerous shit. The ridiculousness of RUSSIA! and the attempt to subvert a presidency that simply out hustled a terrible politician is going to escalate quickly. And when it does, they’ll blame Trump. They don’t care that people will be hurt, in fact I believe it’s the desired state to wave a bloody shirt.

I’m not really sure who has the ear of the President. I like Ivanka and Jared and I really like the tax plan that was put out but see Mare’s threadbare Whoreday undies referenced above for my trust levels. Jury is out on the D’s in the White House. 

Goofy Shit is Endearing. Fuck Being ‘Too Cool’ Like Obama

 

 

 

 

MMM 266: Earworm

Stuck in my head for like a week now.  Time to exorcise the demon:

Cute girl just working out in practical clothing.  Nice.

The Short Bus

Lauraw wears crocks

Up with the sun, gone with the wind

Everyone said Pup was lazy

Leaving my home

Leaving my friends

Running when things got too crazy

Out on the road, out ‘neath the stars

Feeling the breeze, passing the cars

I think my dictionary has a Bob Seger filter, it tried to change “Passing” to “Passin”.

Rock on with your bad selves today my friends.