About what I should be posting.

In the meantime, one cartoonist’s view of the Rapture. Hmmm, maybe I should convert.

The Great Snatch

(Social) Media Shabbat


Good News! Gun Sales are Down!

The gun lobby must be chewing the inside of its cheek at night. They want Second Amendment fanatics in power, but when they are, gun sales decline. It seems like the biggest fear of gun owners is just not being able to buy guns.

“A bellicose, unsteady, and impulsive leader who wants to operate in secrecy and increase police powers is OK, so maybe I don’t need to arm myself to the teeth,” said one gun owner. Another added, “Maybe I can get me one of them there MOAB bombs. I sure loves me a big explosion.”

שבת שלום

See ya in 25 hours, piú o meno. Or maybe on Sunday. Think calm thoughts.

robert-weber-it-s-happened-marge-howard-has-the-bomb-new-yorker-cartoon
By Robert Weber, appeared in the New Yorker in 1999, Conde Nast collection. 

The Wall Won’t Be Built


That’s a prediction, but if I were a betting man, I’d definitely bet against.

Mexico’s not paying.

The residents near the border don’t support it.

The Pussy Grabber is losing popularity, therefore power and clout.

Caveat: If he builds a wall like the Stonehenge replica in Spinal Tap, it doesn’t count.

 

Shavuah Tov. Impeach Drumpf.


Can you fall asleep like this? Were you ever able to?

Asleep on a Roadtrip
Asleep on a Roadtrip, Boston to Columbus.
From “In The Loop” (2009):
Lt. Gen. George Miller: Twelve thousand troops. But that’s not enough. That’s the amount that are going to die. And at the end of a war you need some soldiers left, really, or else it looks like you’ve lost.

 

From “Duck Soup” (1933):
Another Cabinet Member: Gentlemen, gentlemen. Enough of this. How about taking up the tax?
Firefly: How about taking up the carpet?
Member: I still insist we take up the tax!
Firefly: [to his secretary] He’s right—you’ve got to take up the tacks before you take up the carpet.
Member: I give all my time and energy to my duties, and what do I get?
Firefly: You get awfully tiresome after a while.
Member: Sir, you try my patience.
Firefly: I don’t mind if I do. You must come over and try mine some time.
Member: That’s the last straw: I resign. I wash my hands of the whole business.
Firefly: Good idea. You can wash your neck too.

(Social) Media Shabbat


I imagine that your mind is probably shattering at the moment, too. There are too many mental balls to juggle, and they are flying all over the place and getting dropped. Some of them have explosives in them, others are just paint balls, and others are just trite metaphors getting overworked on an unread blog.

That can only mean one thing: It’s time for our weekly break!

I’ll leave you with this thought: It’s my former wife’s weekend with the kids. They don’t hang out with me, y’know,  being teenagers and all, but that sensation when I get back from dropping them at school, their presence still palpable (the humidity upstairs from the shower, the smell of whatever it is that my daughter put in her hair, the mug that I used to heat the milk for the hot chocolate my son drinks in the car), it is overwhelming and poignant, it fades all too fast.

And in other good news, it’s baseball season!!Pogo26

Tomorrow is National Urinate on Mitch McConnell Day.


I hate wishing people dead or disabled (most of the time). However, I believe that Mitch McConnell is so bad for the future of the United States and its institutions, so toxic, so blatantly immoral, that unless he quits (unlikely) or quits being one of the biggest, greediest, hubristic, partisan, and hypocritical assholes to ever disgrace the Senate (even more unlikely), the rest of us are better off with him in a wheelchair,  wanting to “spend more time with his family” (maaaaaaaaa, do we have to visit Grandpa again?), or being a treat for nematodes. Sad, but true.

Since we can’t dance on his grave yet, I’d like to propose the next best thing.

Copy out one of the following pictures onto a small but of easily degradable paper (we don’t want to gum up the works). Place it in a flush toilet, latrine, or a pile of composting manure. Take a photograph, if you care to. You can decorate the picture yourself, or leave it as a crafts project for whomever follows you. If you want, send the photo to themetabug@gmail.com, and let me know if you want acknowledgement.

Yes, this is totally gratuitous.

We don’t care. Desperate times call for immature measures.

NB: These pictures were put here without the permission of the artist. If you are the artist and want them removed, I will cease and desist with the use of your picture immediately upon request.

Start drinking that coffee!

Who reads this shit anyway? Oh? if that’s the case, then why bother to write it?


One of the saddest images in the world is that of the person who has thrown a party, yet no one has come. In fact, this fear is so great, so strong, so devastating, that even the #socalledpresident, the man commanding the world’s most powerful military,  a man who truly believes that he is the pinnacle of human evolution, lives in such dread of it and its implications that he’s willing to drop everything else and obsess about it in front of the entire world. I guess the only thing sadder would be if he tried to throw a party every day, and the same Groundhog Day Fiesta Flop kept recurring.

But that’s not why we’re here today.

The editorial staff of the Meta-Bug was in crisis the other day. We were looking at our numbers for March, and while some of us were rejoicing over our biggest month ever, others were saying, Hey, look, bozos, you had a total of 900 views. One month, 900 views, which means even fewer visitors. And half of those were probably family. So big deal. If someone’s kid had his whole high school look at one single post on one single day (suggested post: kitten videos combined with pictures of a young Sophia Loren), that would have beaten the entire number for March by a more than double. To look at it another way, there were just 29 views per day in our busiest month ever. More people in just Framingham look at their Kleenex each to see if they have a sinus infection, and probably found analyzing their nasal discharge more interesting than reading our constant complaints about the country going to hell in a handbasket, occasionally interspersed  with new and astounding revelations that divorce takes a toll.

We thought about this. We agonized about this. We pondered: Is all this writing and rewriting worth doing? Does the effort make any difference? Then, we all retired to the backyard to cry,  while pretending to rake the leaves that we were too distracted to deal with last fall.   Our answer: Of course it makes no difference!

But using logic here at the Meta-Bug is hardly our standing operating procedure. Nor, for that matter, is wise allocation of the limited amount of time we have on this earth.  It appears that we do what we will, and let the buffalo chips fall where they may.  (Generally, right next to the bowl of extra-picante bile salsa we are eating. Yum!)

Well, damn the torpedoes. We have decided to carry on. People practice their instruments for years and never get on stage. They have fun doing the practicing, and do not worry about people pointing to their accordion lessons and say, Aha! Evidence of a Crazed and Diseased Mind! And that’s the reason we wrote this post in the first place, right?

Happy Monday! We hope the weather, wherever you are,  is suitable for turning grapes into raisins!

 

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