.I’m back home from my trip north to see family, but unfortunately, covid has finally caught up with me.
I blame my mom. (I mean, after the Chicoms, and after lyin’ Tony Fauci and his gain of function research.) I stayed at her place on Monday night; she lives with my sister and brother-in-law, both of whom were feeling a little under the weather. So I kept my distance from both of them.
But mom felt fine. She turned 84 last Saturday (which makes her just 2342 years younger than Imhotep Pelosi, for those of you keeping score at home), and she is just adorable.
So I kissed and hugged on her, as a grateful and loving son does.
Then they called me after I got home, to say that all 3 of them tested positive for covid. And yesterday I started with a raw throat, and today I’ve got fever and body aches and a fuzzy head. Which, taken together, would probably kill a lesser roving correspondent.
But am I going to let that stop me from writing this column, you might ask?
To quote the Godfather – which all of us should do once a week or so – ‘What have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully?”
Of course not. Am I an Ameri-can or an Ameri-can’t?
Do I have the strength of 10 men, because my heart is pure?
I do, and it is.
Besides, I’m used to writing with a fuzzy head, though it’s usually due to the ingestion of medicinal bourbon.
To quote the late, great Phil Hartman as incompetent lawyer Lionel Hutz on the Simpsons – which we should all do, when we’re not quoting the Godfather or Uncle Jesus (though not in that order) – it’s “the brownest of the brown liquors.” Mmmm.
So here goes, and I blame any incoherence that follows on the wu flu, which is not killing me, but only making me stronger.
I now have a new favorite Californian. (Not a crowded list lately, I’ll grant you.)
It’s Craig Cope, a liquor store owner who is 80 years old (making him only 37 years younger than Bernie Sanders, for those of you keeping score at home), and is rocking a Buddy Ebsen look. (Cutting-edge cultural references ripped from today’s headlines!)
And boy, is he well-named, because Craig can definitely Cope!
Which I found out while watching surveillance video of four armed Biden voters who ran into his store to rob him. The mask-wearing lead wuss came through the front door pointing a rifle and saying, “Hands in the air! Hands in the air!”
Cope must have thought, “I’m not going to do that.” Instead, he shot him with the shotgun he was holding.
And as in pretty much all cases of illegally armed punks confronted by a legally armed citizen, the punk immediately turned and ran, leaving a trail of urine and screaming like a beeyotch, “He shot my arm off! He shot my arm off!”
For the record, his arm was still attached, the little drama queen. The four perps were soon arrested, and the would-be rifleman was treated for his wound at a hospital. Tragically, no amputation was required.
Speaking of entertaining crime video, let me recommend the You Tube videos of an ex-cop who calls himself Donut Operator. He’s funny, and the videos he shows are sometimes tragic, but mostly comic, as they involve the myriad ways that low IQ criminals managed to get themselves ballistically ventilated in the pursuit of their career choice as lazy, non-contributing slugs.
One recent favorite is entitled, “Bork bork gets his first nom nom.” (Which is DO’s way of describing a police K9 getting to chomp his first ever criminal.)
The story is that three mouth-breathers who look about as sharp as the brain trust running the January 6th committee went on a car-jacking and murder spree. When the cops tracked down 2 of the 3, they were already in jail for other crimes.
Which left one guy roaming the streets. Does he have a neck tattoo of a hand holding a pistol aiming forward, you ask?
See the Godfather quote above.
Anyway, the cop’s body cam captures the moments when they catch up with the guy, and the cop lets his newbie German shepherd named Red – and he is a very good boy! – start tracking the bad guy.
Red picks up the scent — I’m guessing it’s equal parts cowardice, pot smoke and bad judgement – and locates the big mean murderer hiding behind a washer and dryer in a back yard. Red leaps forward and chomps down on the perp’s ankle.
And just like the rifleman in CA, this guy starts squealing like a transwoman when someone misgenders her.
(Or him. I’m so confused.)
After allowing Red about 20 seconds of nom-noming — and savoring the lamentations of the murderous pseudo-woman — the cop pulls him off, shouting praise for the good boy. And Red eats it up, howling in joy, and asking for one more bite of the miscreant.
My favorite part of the video is that the crook’s last name is Bacon. Which seems appropriate, the way Red was finding him absolutely delicious.
Let me close with a comment that I hesitate to make, because I wonder if it’s not the product of my aforementioned fuzzy brain.
I want to praise an action that Brandon took this past week: unless it’s the high fever talking, I believe that he took out AQ big shot Ayman al Zawahiri with a drone.
Sure, he’s been in office for 14 years and counting, and up until now it’s been all terrible policy and demented word salad and reading a teleprompter with unblinking, black shark eyes. And there’ll probably be more of the same tomorrow.
But for one shining moment, Biden did the right thing, and smoked a jihadi bad guy. So good on you, Joe.
I know that this IS the fever talking, but I just remembered one of my favorite tasteless jokes I’ve ever come up with:
A few years ago, Trump located a top terrorist – he was identified as holding the title of “Grand Mufti” of some place or other — and whacked him with a drone. Media coverage claimed that the bad guy’s mistake had been that he’d stopped keeping a low profile and avoiding public appearances, and had become “too visible.”
I pointed out how ironic it was that a bunch of misogynists who force their women into beekeeper outfits ran into trouble because their mufti was too visible.
I’m here all week, people. Don’t forget to hit the tip jar.
Avenatti/ Grand Mufti 2024!