I woke up one morning and knew it all. Isn’t that what our children think? Or our wives? After all, she calls me a know-it-all all the time. So she must be right. Right?
Well, yes, in some ways. And no in others. I married her, which proves I’m not entirely stupid. So at least I have that going for me.
Let me back up so you know what I’m actually talking about, because this has become a very boring and tedious morning. My real work, the paying kind, has just been pushed off another two days. Like the Secretary of Good Humor that I apparently am, I work at the pleasure of my clientele. And when they say “not today, will Friday work?” all I can do is say very loudly, under my breath: fudge. Then change the calendar.
When I went crazy, let’s see, that was late 2024, just after Trump won the election, I decided I would become a world-class graphic satirist that nobody would ever discover. I watched every move the Putz made. I made cartoons about every stupid thing he did. I couldn’t keep up. A hundred of me couldn’t have kept up.
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I was a GOD.
Well. Maybe it wasn’t me. Maybe it was just that he’s so damn predictable.
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I used to say I had one goal. I was wrong. I have two.
For both you and me to think for ourselves.
Wake up and smell the jasmine. I’ve found that roses, the ones everybody tells you to stop and smell, have thorns. And thorns can be dangerous if you’re not paying attention to where you’re putting your hands.
