That’s Quite The Poll…

The Tiny Tyrant’s fundraising committee has released a survey: Official Presidential Job Performance Poll. And here it is:

Wow. Impressive, right? Every time you think the bar of stupid just cannot possibly get lower, it defies reality and gets down, down, down in the pit of fuckin’ idiocy. Obviously, they are hoping for a sop to toss into the void of Donny’s ego, reassuring him that yes, he’s so much better than a former president.

If you’re thinking of having a bit of fun, think twice, because:

respondents must submit identifying information, including their names and email addresses, raising concerns that the details will be raided for marketing purposes.

The site’s fine print below the form notes that, “by providing your phone number, you are consenting to receive calls and texts, including autodialed and automated calls and texts, to that number from TMAGAC and its participating committees.”

The full story is here.

Cancer Chronicles 2: The Farting.

Cartoon by Mark Ewbie.

One thing you get to contemplate with a colostomy is being turned into a fart factory. I have not yet ventured out and about with my new arrangement; I’m waiting for the stoma swelling to go down one of these days. Even then, it will be interesting. The very first time you fart after having an ostomy is a strange sensation, a wrong sensation. The gas moves in the wrong direction, and it’s a bit of a shock, that first fart. You start to go into the autoclench before you realize that won’t help, and you have no way to clench on farts which are on the upside.

And then there’s the ballooning. If you expel a good amount of gas, your bag balloons up, and you have to bleed it to get the gas out. At least in this, you have a choice as to whether or not you’ll be inflicting your bag o’ farts on the unwitting. I have to say, it would be very mean to do so, but if it’s someone you don’t like, well…

You do adjust very quickly, after the first fart shock; when you feel one coming on, your hand immediately goes over your stoma while you try to look innocent. Right now, I can only envision myself out and about while clutching a pillow to my abdomen, so I think it will be a while before I make that first public appearance anywhere. Long car rides are a horrorshow of discomfort and peak level gas production. It’s recommended that when a long drive is necessary, that you pause and get out to stretch one or two times if you have an ostomy. There’s no particular reason given, but I am now certain this is so you can sneakily bleed the gas out of your bag without asphyxiating your driver. :D

Also, having an ostomy does not turn you into Pepé Le Pew – there’s no stench wafting about your person. As long as your bag is properly sealed, you’re fine. If you’re on the paranoid side about such things though, there are filters and such available. With an ostomy, you’re more in control of your farting, which is kinda nice. You also have the advantage of a weapons grade tool to chase away unwanted visitors, like Jehovah Witnesses. ;)

And today, I’m going to make things so much worse for myself, because I have a craving for refried beans. Well, it’s just me, the dogs, cats, and rats. And now, I can truly relate to He-Gassen. And I encourage everyone to relate their fave fart stories.

Ummm, what?

Fucking Idiot: “Why is the United States Post Office, which is losing many billions of dollars a year, while charging Amazon and others so little to deliver their packages, making Amazon richer and the Post Office dumber and poorer?” Trump asked on Twitter. “Should be charging MUCH MORE!”

The Idiot King is nattering on again, about post offices. Naturally, this had to do with something he saw on Fox News, but it had absolutely nothing to do with the actual ‘news’ segment. I’ll admit to being taken by surprise here, who in the fuckety fuck does not know how the postal system works? The stupid is eating us alive.

Via Raw Story.

Owl.

Portrait of the owl. This owl 'bubo' is tawny brown and beige with a flat face and prominent ears like horns. Bubo, as described by Aristotle (buas or bruas in Greek) was as large as an eagle which must indicate the relatively rare eagle owl. It has prominent ear tufts as shown but it is tawny all over and does not have a flat face. The long eared owl has a flat face and ears but is also tawny all over. The barn owl is closest in colouring to the illustration and also has a flat face, but it does not have ears. As projecting ears or horns are not mentioned in the Bestiary text they may derive from a much earlier source which was still aware of the connection between bubo and the eagle owl.

Portrait of the owl. This owl ‘bubo’ is tawny brown and beige with a flat face and prominent ears like horns. Bubo, as described by Aristotle (buas or bruas in Greek) was as large as an eagle which must indicate the relatively rare eagle owl. It has prominent ear tufts as shown but it is tawny all over and does not have a flat face. The long eared owl has a flat face and ears but is also tawny all over. The barn owl is closest in colouring to the illustration and also has a flat face, but it does not have ears. As projecting ears or horns are not mentioned in the Bestiary text they may derive from a much earlier source which was still aware of the connection between bubo and the eagle owl.

Text Translation:

Of the owl Isidore says of the owl: ‘The name owl, bubo, is formed from the sound it makes. It is a bird associated with the dead, weighed down, indeed, with its plumage, but forever hindered, too, by the weight of its slothfulness. It lives day and night around burial places and is always found in caves.’ On this subject Rabanus says: ‘The owl signifies those who have given themselves up to the darkness of sin and those who flee from the light of righteousness.’ As a result it is classed among the unclean creatures in Leviticus (see 11:16). Consequently, we can take the owl to mean any kind of sinner.

The owl gets its name from the sound it makes, because its mouth speaks when its heart is overfull, for what it thinks about in its mind, it utters with its voice. It is said to be a filthy bird, because it fouls its nest with its droppings, as the sinner dishonours those with whom he lives, by the example of his evil ways. It is weighed down with its plumage, as the sinner is with an excess of carnal pleasure and with fickleness of mind; but it is truly hampered by the weight of its sloth. It is hindered by the weight of its idleness and sloth, as sinners are lazy and slothful in acting virtuously. It spends its days and nights around burial places, as the sinner delights in sin, which is like the stench of decaying human flesh. For it lives in caves like the sinner who will not emerge from darkness by means of confession but detests the light of truth.

When other birds see the owl, they signal its presence with loud cries and harrass it with fierce assaults. In the same way, if a sinner comes into the light of understanding, he becomes an object of derision to the virtuous. And when he is caught openly in the act of sinning, his ears are filled with their reproaches. As the birds pull out the owl’s feathers and tear at it with their beaks, the virtuous censure the carnal acts of the sinner and condemn his excesses. The owl is known, therefore, as a miserable bird, just as the sinner, who behaves in the way we have described above, is a miserable man.

Folio 50r – the blackbird, continued. De bubone; Of the Owl.

Frigg’s Day Mood.

Pain – Coming Home.

Been watching myself in the mirror for forty plus some years
And seen how time makes you wrinkled and grey
Remember when we were young
We had all the time in the world
And our life was beautiful
We didn’t have a clue
As we’re getting older the more lies are shining through
And I’m busting my heart for the world
I’m getting tired, I just wanna go home

I’m coming home
I’m coming home

My head is empty and I need a break
I have to be hungry again to breathe and create
Life don’t come easy, it’s always the same
My brain is a ticking bomb
I’m getting tired, I just wanna go home

I’m coming home
I’m coming home
Life’s not a dream
Nothing is what it seems to be
My brain is a ticking bomb
I’m getting tired, I just wanna go home

I’m coming home
I’m coming home