Monday, February 3, 2014


(Andy Whitfield:  I still can't believe he's dead.) 

Yesterday, I took my youngest son Bluce to a restaurant.  The Dragon Lady came with us.  She was in a foul mood.  We ate yang-yum chicken.  Translation?  It's fried poultry smothered in a spicy yellow mystery sauce.  The meal was good.  I washed down my vittles with several glasses of Coke.

We walked back to our Soviet-style concrete tenement.  I watched Spartacus: War of the Damned.  My cable provider is offering the show for free through the month of February.  I love all four seasons of the popular series.  Spartacus is no less than an inspired work of genius. The death of Andy Whitfield remains a mystery to me.  He was nearly my age and the picture of health before cancer ate him alive.  I, on the other hand, am a doughy wrinkled retard with bacon grease for blood.  Yet I still breathe.  Go figure.

I paid homage Christ.  I said the Lord's Prayer on bended knees.  And why not?  Everything else fades away.  Collect gold till it's coming out your ears.  It won't protect you from the grave.  Build wonderful monuments to your own glory.  Time will tear them down.  Construct the greatest empire ever know to man.  It will eventually fall and turn to dust.  God is the only thing that endures.

I went to bed at 3 a.m.  I didn't dream.  I woke up at 11 a.m. and drank some coffee.  Then I read the paper while enjoying a bathroom break.  Woody Allen has a step-daughter named Dylan Farrow.  She says he sexually assaulted her when she was a child.  Woody is one sick puppy.  He molests one daughter and marries the other.  Solution?  Let's hang him from a tree in the town square.  So let it be written, so let it be done.

I downloaded the Super Bowl.  The Seahawks crushed the Broncos.  I wasn't the least bit surprised.  Seattle has a nasty defense.  Their secondary is the best I've ever seen.  Poor old Peyton and his receivers never stood a chance.  The whole affair was nothing but an old-fashioned ass kicking.

I caught the interview between Bill O'Reilly and Obama.  Bill asked the president about his healthcare plan.  On this particular issue, I'm a biased dirty leftist.  I don't like Obama-care because it doesn't go far enough.  America needs socialized medicine.  We now have a bullshit service economy featuring tons of bogus low-paying crap jobs.  Nobody has two nickels to rub together.  So at least let us see a doctor without having to declare bankruptcy.

Anyway, enjoy the song of the day.  Here's You Better You Better You Bet by The Who.  God bless.


  1. Nice to have you back Mr Smith!

  2. If the government did not spend $1.1 trillion every year driving up the cost of health care you could afford to go to the doctor without filing bankruptcy. You trust government morons with your health? Really?

    So sad.

    1. That's me. A sad old man bad teeth. Uncle Sam should get out of Iraq and pay for my dentures.

  3. I pity the sad/angry Glibertarians who can't believe that socialised medicine is the solution. They think it's the GOVERNMENT which makes the price of health care so exorbitant? They cannot see the evil of corporations, which would squeeze the last drop of blood from a dying old woman if it would make them another dime. Drug companies, hospitals, medical device makers, and of course the insurance companies (which should be renamed "protection rackets") are behind it, not the government. But Glibs are like Muslims, who in their cultural blindness cannot see anything wrong with the bogus principles of the Koran. Glibbos have full faith in the Korpoation that way, and in spite of all evidence about their perversion of the profit motive, they keep believing.

    1. I'm with you. You're preaching to the choir.


Thanks for stopping by. Smith.