Heartless Killers….

Ever look at a headline and you think wow, someone found that interesting enough to write about? (Quit smirking. This one doesn’t count.)

Screenshot_13I knew these brats were up to no good. But who knew J. Crew was still a thing? Their crap never fit me and always cost too much, but the pictures were pretty. I looked at the web site and was surprised how “mall cheap” the stuff they’re trying to peddle looks. Back in my day J. Crew was all full of khaki and muted pastels, clothes that models wore on pretend sailing adventures and picnics by the river, soft cotton sweaters that looked like they’d feel really nice between one’s hand and a preppie pixie’s left breast.

And Millennials, soulless destroyers that they are, are strangling all that. Just out of spite, I’m sure. It’s the pent-up fury of a generation’s collectively denied sexual dysfunction. Probably.

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Why Teachers Suck …

Source: Why Teachers Suck …

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Thanks, Mom

My mom just had a birthday, but we’re not celebrating it until tomorrow since she was away on the actual day. We’re going to get out the grill, burn some food, have something bad for us for desert. By coincidence, one of my nephews posted this on his facebook* page:

I DON’T THINK MOST GIRLS REALIZE HOW HANDSOME MY MOM SAYS I AM.

My immediate response was laughing agreement, “I know, right?” But then I got to thinking: It’s been a long time since I paid any attention to how women respond to me, because the best part of being old (though not as old as my mom….

…is just not caring what anyone thinks about anything. The default response of most mature folks over 50 is “Screw you, assclown!” 

But who among us hasn’t thought after some chick (or dude, if that’s how you roll) does that snotty tongue-click “tch” thing, that the obviously blind jerk needs a sit down with mom?

I actually believed I was handsome well into my teenage years, thanks to my mom, until that day that I really looked in the mirror and was, like, “Oh, so that’s what the problem is.” Fortunately, by that time, I’d already started to not give many damns–and if girls are attracted to anything, it’s guys who just don’t give a damn. The less damns you have to give, the more what you do have are in demand.

And hey, mom: thanks for that.

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Trump: The Joke That Keeps on Giving

So much for being the most powerful man on earth, the Great Yuge Orange One has irrefutably become nothing more than a laughingstock the the other leaders in the world, a punchline to the kind of not-really-funny dirty joke that just makes folks wince.

Here are Lars Lokke Rasmussen, Juha Sipila, Bjarni Benediktsson, Erna Solberg and Stefan Lofven, the prime ministers of Denmark, Finland, Iceland, Norway and Sweden respectively, getting their goof on at the USA’s expense.
Sweden's PM Lofven with his counterparts Rasmussen of Denmark, Solberg of Norway, Sipila of Finland and Benediktsson of Iceland hold a soccer ball during their meeting in Bergen

And here is more, just they never old. Not ever.

 

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The Closer You Look, The Weirder….

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Hellbenders Fighting In My Back Yard

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Grant Township Photo shamelessly pilfered from The Indiana Gazette, my favorite small town newspaper. Gazette

There is a nice article right now in Rolling Stone on a historic and heroic struggle that is happening just a few miles up the road from me. A while back, a big corporation came to a tiny little community and said, “we’re going to dump all our pollution here.” A lot of the good country folks who live there said “No, please.” The giant corporation said. “Shut up. We’re a corporation. We have human rights and we’ll do as we please!”

So the people went to the state and the Department of Environmental Protection agency said, “What we protect is the rights of corporations to use the environment as they see fit.” And so the people said, “Okay, we’ll do it ourselves.” So the corporations sued them and, to add insult to injury, the government sued them and still this group of renegade rural folks is standing strong, like real Americans, conscientious, committed, and courageous. The people of Grant Township Pennsylvania, and the East Run Hellbenders Society should have songs written and movies made about them. And maybe they will, in the end.

http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/news/how-a-small-town-is-standing-up-to-fracking-w482577

You’ll be hearing more about this. In the meantime, if you don’t know what a hellbender is, behold its awesomeness.

 

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Ugh, They Did It Again…

Ugh, they did it again. I was away from here more than I was here the past few months, and things look–and work–a little differently. Ugh.

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
I see they did it again
They made us believe we know how it works
Oh baby
It might seem like whining
But it doesn’t mean I’m not serious
‘Cause to lose my bearings
That is just so typically me
Oh baby, baby
Damn, they did it again
I played with posting, I’m lost in the game
Oh baby, baby
Oops, I didn’t mean to delete
Couldn’t find the save draft tab
I’m not that ignorant
You see my problem is this…
I just couldn’t find
Oh wait there it is, now where did it go
I cry, watching the words
Can’t you see I just miss the straight-forward days
With all the buttons right there
It’s just so typically W.P.
Oh baby, oh
Oops, they did it again
I played with your heart, got lost in the game
Oh baby, baby
Oops, you think I’m in love
That I’m…
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Let The Memes Flow…

donald-trump4

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Flapper On A Pole, Not Dancing

Part of sliding back into the blog is resusitating the whimsical elements of Old Road Apples to, you know, balance out the bitching and ranting. Favorite photos…this one is widely dispersed on the interwebs, but I stole it from  http://imgfave.com/view/2428432

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Hunter Smooshed By Elephant

Briefly, some big game hunters were out of a stroll in scenic Zimbabwe, undoubtedly scouting for rare and endangered animals they could blow holes through. For sport. They riled up a group of elephants, who took exception to the interruption–and almost certainly has some qualms about big game hunters because elephants are smart, they remember faces and scents pretty much forever, and they certainly know what a white guy with a “boomstick” means. The elephants charged, shots were fired, and Theunis Botha, a prominent professional hunter and guide who is credited for developing a hunting technique in which packs of dogs are used to run down leopards, was pancaked beneath the body of the wounded elephant as it fell.

Awwwwww.

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I know I shouldn’t take pleasure in the death of another human, and I don’t. I do, however, appreciate the concept of karma and the sweet, smoky scent of irony on a warm summer day.  In general, like most rural Westsylvanians, I don’t give hunting a second thought. My dad did hunted a bit. My grandfather hunted pragmatically, not for trophies but to fill the freezer. That’s how it has been here forever.

Trophy hunting is a whole damn different thing. Wealthy people traveling around the world, venturing out from posh enclaves and led to optimal positions to squirt out a few rounds at exotic creatures. When the kill is over, lackeys take the skins and heads, usually discarding the meat, to be shipped home for the great valiant hunter to hang on the wall.

The argument is made that big game hunting supports local economies by filling lodges, hiring guides, and employing a platoon of service employees who carry and load the weapons, for example, drive the vehicles, pour the cocktails, as well as perform the butchering and preparing of skin and head.

Along with this comes the reasoning that by allowing a percentage of rare and endangered animals to be shot and killed revenue can be generated to support conservation, which is sort of like arguing that school districts should invite rich foreigners to hunt a certain number of teachers and use the fees to balance school budgets. Well, maybe if it was my tenth grade algebra teacher?

I might be tempted to think better of big game hunters if they were pushed out of the back of a land rover in the middle of the savanna with a knife, six feet of nylon cord, and a compass and left to fend for themselves, but what passes as “hunting” in this context is really just “killing.” The guides know where the animals are, kills are virtually guaranteed (staff will make sure the target dies if the hunter misses or only manages to wound it–no one goes home empty handed!).

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2017/05/22/veteran-big-game-hunter-dies-after-elephant-felled-by-gunfire-collapses-on-him/?utm_term=.c82cce09965a

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