Don't trip them up The Prez took a nasty fall the other day while handing out diplomas at the Air Force Academy, tripping over an unartfully placed sandbag. The octogenarian sprang right up and resumed presiding over an expanding economy and glorying in the Republican ass he had kicked in the debt negotiations.
We have sympathy for Biden over at our place, because we have lots of stuff to trip over, and sometimes we do. This is because of our household policy of never throwing anything out. In particular, one box full of old textbooks seems to be underfoot foot every time I go in the garage. It’s only a matter of time before I fall over it.
I hope I spring right up like Joe did, and when I do, I’ll point out that tripping over stuff is not age-related. People sixty or more years younger than Biden trip over things all the time, by virtue of being on their phones, mostly.
Why it took the similarly aged McConnell five weeks to get back to work is hidden in the depths of medical secrecy, but we have our sources. Apparently, McConnell emerged from his bump on the noggin with a completely different personality. He started by asking the nurses in the hospital how much money they made, and when they told him, he exclaimed, “That’s not enough! We need to raise Medicare and Medicaid taxes so you people can get paid better!”
When he said that, his staffers knew he wasn’t right, and transferred the Senator to a secret sanitorium. He kept on raving, saying he was going to raise taxes on the rich for the benefit of the American people. Jaws were dropping and heads were shaking.
No one had ever heard him talk like that, and his friends and fellow Senators became deeply worried. He would say things like, “Why should some shifty creep billionaire be able to hide his money offshore instead of shouldering his fair share of the costs of running the USA like some hard-working electrician or union schoolteacher?”
My source assured me they tried everything, from drugs to electroshocks to telling him Elaine was going to leave him to pursue a life of a single billionairess back in China. Nothing worked. McConnell kept talking about how grateful he was to live in a country that accepted gay marriage and ragged refugees. He agitated to be let out so he could attend drag story hours. He insisted that all his straitjackets be purchased at Target.
“We thought we’d lost him,” we were told. “We could never let him return to the Senate in his condition. He had woken up from his coma woke.”
“But gradually, the real McConnell returned. He was quiet for a few days, then, when one of his neurologists turned his back on him, the Senator lifted his wallet. Everyone was so encouraged. Then he started talking about how much he missed 'that prick Joe Manchin,' and started asking, hopefully, if Ted Cruz had died while he was sick.”
“And so now he’s back. American can be grateful for him or not. I assure you, thanks to his amazing recovery, Mitch doesn’t give a shit.”
We have sympathy for Biden over at our place, because we have lots of stuff to trip over, and sometimes we do. This is because of our household policy of never throwing anything out. In particular, one box full of old textbooks seems to be underfoot foot every time I go in the garage. It’s only a matter of time before I fall over it.
I hope I spring right up like Joe did, and when I do, I’ll point out that tripping over stuff is not age-related. People sixty or more years younger than Biden trip over things all the time, by virtue of being on their phones, mostly.
Why it took the similarly aged McConnell five weeks to get back to work is hidden in the depths of medical secrecy, but we have our sources. Apparently, McConnell emerged from his bump on the noggin with a completely different personality. He started by asking the nurses in the hospital how much money they made, and when they told him, he exclaimed, “That’s not enough! We need to raise Medicare and Medicaid taxes so you people can get paid better!”
When he said that, his staffers knew he wasn’t right, and transferred the Senator to a secret sanitorium. He kept on raving, saying he was going to raise taxes on the rich for the benefit of the American people. Jaws were dropping and heads were shaking.
No one had ever heard him talk like that, and his friends and fellow Senators became deeply worried. He would say things like, “Why should some shifty creep billionaire be able to hide his money offshore instead of shouldering his fair share of the costs of running the USA like some hard-working electrician or union schoolteacher?”
My source assured me they tried everything, from drugs to electroshocks to telling him Elaine was going to leave him to pursue a life of a single billionairess back in China. Nothing worked. McConnell kept talking about how grateful he was to live in a country that accepted gay marriage and ragged refugees. He agitated to be let out so he could attend drag story hours. He insisted that all his straitjackets be purchased at Target.
“We thought we’d lost him,” we were told. “We could never let him return to the Senate in his condition. He had woken up from his coma woke.”
“But gradually, the real McConnell returned. He was quiet for a few days, then, when one of his neurologists turned his back on him, the Senator lifted his wallet. Everyone was so encouraged. Then he started talking about how much he missed 'that prick Joe Manchin,' and started asking, hopefully, if Ted Cruz had died while he was sick.”
“And so now he’s back. American can be grateful for him or not. I assure you, thanks to his amazing recovery, Mitch doesn’t give a shit.”
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