The bullshit is that the only way to cut the deficit is to reduce spending. The Democratic response is that they ain't gonna do that.

But there are two ways to counter a deficit, whether it's our household spending or the national deficit: Increase revenue.


Dems should be pointing out that raising taxes on large corporations and the top 10% would put a substantial dent in the national deficit.

The Democratic response to requests to reduce spending should go something like, We agree to reduce defense spending and corporate handouts if our Republican friends (that's how they refer to each other) agree to raise taxes on people earning more than $750k.

He was a smaller scale version of Hunter S. Thompson, whom he read and admired.

This story is about roughly, 1972. As I posted several times, Jim was addicted to marijuana... several joints per day at a cost of a few hundred $ per month. It also cost him his life as the years of smoking joints clogged his lungs with tar to the point that at the end, he ran out of breath, walking across his living room.

But not to diverge -

1972, he was full into weed. It was also the year he graduated from college and moved back into his room at his mother's house with her and his younger brother. After moving in, one of the first things he did was to plant several marijuana plants in my Aunt Mae's garden, among whatever other plants she had growing.

They grew tall.

The garden was also next to the walkway from her driveway to the back entrance to her house that was the common entrance to her domicile. It was impossible for anyone waking on the walkway to avoid seeing them but any of Auntie's friends and relatives who saw them were not likely to know what they were.... just a couple of weeds that she was probably going to pull up when she got around to it. No one was likely to know what they were.

Except Uncle Frank. Uncle Frank, who I also wrote about, served proudly in the U.S. Army. In 1972, he was a Lt. Colonel and had finished his last tour of duty in Viet Nam. He was making visits to his relatives in N.J. before retiring to Ft. Hood in Texas.

So, he's walking down the driveway and onto the walkway when he spots the weed.

The Colonel: "Mae, what's these you got growing here?"

Aunt Mae: "Oh, they're Jimmy's Himalayan Ferns. He says they are delicate and not to touch them."

The Colonel: Sarcastically, " Himalayan Ferns, eh?"

The Colonel had the decency not to go any further with it and when he asked what I knew about it, I didn't know anything about 'em. "First time I've seen 'em. Don't know what they are."

Thanks, Uncle Frank and I hope they have good smoke wherever Jimmy is.

not been sworn in.

Not getting paid: This will be a problem for most of them and will result in quicker resolution of the speaker issue.

George Santos will be ok, however. He can just kite a few checks to tide him over.

off the top of my head. But this one is real.

My cousin lives in Southern California and has come on hard times. She is close to being on the street.

Her father died in '87. She paid for his cemetery plot, on a hill that overlooks the ocean.

Today, we spoke for Christmas greetings and she asked my thoughts about excavating her father and selling the plot. She asked me because she knew I was close to him. He was my favorite of 7 uncles.

I told her that I have no feelings of sentimentality about anyone's body (except that I hope to live long enough to piss on Trump's grave).

But there are questions... Who owns the plot? What might its market value be? How much would excavation cost? What would she then do with his body? What would that cost? Can a body that has been preserved in formaldehyde be cremated?

Your thoughts?

Been going on since the freeze. I know that hot water, circulating can have banging radiators whee they get filled with water that has to be drained.

Any ideas?

I thought about that. Chuckled on it and then I figured, I'll go ask him.

So I drove to the taco wagon.... It's cold here in Montana or I would'a walked but instead, I drove. It was 11:45 and he was packing up for the day so I was lucky to still get to him before he went home for the day to his cabin.

So I asked him, "El. Did you ever live in England?" He's still kind'a private so he didn't answer right away. But he trusts me and told me about the 14 years between 1978 -92. He hopped a freighter in Newport News and arrived in Plymouth in August '78. He's getting a little sketchy on dates and stuff so he doesn't remember exact days.

--- sorry. I got a bit out of sequence here. I'm getting old myself so I need to remember that not everybody on D.U. knows that Elvis is running a taco truck in a small town, here in Montana. Two or three of us have recognized him and the rest of the town sees the taco truck open up for a couple of hours, see the owner heat up the fixin's, eat most of it himself, sells a couple and then goes back to the cabin.

"Crazy old coot." but for the most part, they leave him alone.

Anyway, he arrived in Plymouth, broke. He couldn't get hold of his money 'cause people would know he was not dead. After a couple of days, he got himself a job as a porter in a primary school. He tried to get back to being a truck driver but couldn't pass the British license requirements. The job at the school lasted a couple of years but then they let him go.... complaints were about him always humming loudly to himself in the halls and disturbing the lessons. Also something about the girls saying he looked a bit - dodgy was the word I think he used.

So he took a bus to Leeds and yes, he did work at the chip shop about a 15 months. Life was depressing and he does recall using his work breaks to go to the pub, two doors down, and pounding down John Courage or Caffrey's ale and then coming back to work, a bit loose with his words.

He got fired from that job, around '82. He doesn't remember too much about the jobs, here and there.. working at a farm, housing construction and stuff and being depressed about it all.

So he had saved enough for a plane ticket back to Bangor, Maine.

So. I guess the last laugh is on whoever wrote the song.

I hope this helps.

Friend found it last week and emailed it to Joan. It "disappeared" and neither can find it.

Searched google photos,

"sent" mail

google drive.


Thoughts?

The suet cakes were installed and I walked away to watch,
He is a big guy, a Mocking Bird, and he sits at the top of the Oak,
Watching his domain,
He is bigger than the cast of characters below him,
Nuthatches, Sparrows and a couple of Finches,
Most of the time, he chases them away,
He owns the yard,
It is his,
I wonder how long he will let them stay.

An opinion pole on Sirius/XM, Smirconish got the lowest response in months regarding his daily pole questions.

to negotiate or pay ransom.


BUT

The U.S. government negotiates a deal for Britany.


How is that different?