At Klara’s school, today is Hawaiian outfit day. Klara came downstairs in a very sparkly shirt.

“That’s not Hawaiian,” I observed.

“I’m an immigrant to Hawaii from the country of sparkle,” Klara deadpanned.

Wow, people, did you see the Oval Office showdown between Trump and that racist South African dude?

I feel enormously better already.

Why did the African guy even come? Did he think he was going to get praised for his behavior?

I have a gigantic ceiling fan in the bedroom. It’s like a medium-sized helicopter. It’s on full blast all year long. In winter, especially, coupled with an open window, it’s exquisite.

But yesterday I suddenly became preoccupied that it would fall out of the ceiling and murder me. So I lowered the speed and spent the night suffering from no wind to speak of blowing into my ear and next to no noise from the rotator blades.

The whole day went to the dogs as a result. It was a succession of stupid decisions like I was competing for the Moron of the Year prize. And the worst part is that it was supposed to be a great day because I’m on my yearly writing retreat. Guess what wasn’t done at the retreat. Exactly, writing. Not by me, anyway. Everybody else was writing up a storm, except for me, the champion moron.

Tomorrow is day two and I’m hoping not to be quite as much of a disaster.

Money, money, money. It’s always about money. The much more important question of what these left-wing influencers are actually going to say is never addressed. Will they call everybody a racist and a homophobe? That’s already been done a million times over and everybody is tired of it. It’s not the money the Left lacks. It’s ideas.

Beyond name-calling, what have you got?

POLL #3

Which group is the least likable?

— i/o (@avidseries) May 21, 2025

I don’t have a problem with Hindu nationalists who don’t want anything from one but woke Indian women are a bloody murder. They seem extremely pissed off and one never knows quite why.

I’m still not over the annoyance caused to me by the expression “to amplify voices” when people came up with “mental load”, which also drives me up a wall.

I did something deeply moronic today, and I’m in the right mood.

Remember the pregnant brain-dead woman we discussed a few days ago? She was 21 weeks pregnant, not nine. But the article I linked did make it sound like it was 9 weeks. This happens every time I access MSM. Lies, manipulations, everything is perverted.

Now imagine what happens to people who get all their news from these sources. And then we wonder why they believe in Canadian concentration camps, insurrections, and crowds of kids perishing from COVID.

This reminded me of yesterday’s discussion about a person finding non-existent “rape culture” in a cartoon.

It’s like when your finger is hurt and everything rubs against that poor finger. It takes on an oversized role in your life. It throbs and pulsates. This is how it is for neurotics. Life itself becomes about their neurosis.

https://twitter.com/MAVERIC68078049/status/1924494065674141826?t=KuOAMGFY6-Ko7aOuUSgETg&s=19

I wish people who keep saying this explained what they mean. Are they claiming that Corey Comperatore was not killed and the other two men were not wounded? That the Comperatore family were what? Actors? That authorities in a Dem state conspired with Trump to create these fake victims? I hope nobody is claiming that because it’s on par with the Sandy Hook shooting being fake.

So if there was a shooting, is the narrative that Trump hired somebody to shoot in his direction? That’s insanely risky. Not a trained sniper but some crazy kid? Trump clearly likes himself very much. He wouldn’t stand there knowing that a weirdo boy was pointing a rifle at him.

People keep repeating that it’s staged. Crowds of people at work believe it. But I can never get them to explain what they mean.

The ongoing discussion about the cartoon I posted yesterday reminded me of a Latin American literature course I took as an undergrad. We read a short story where there was a description of a tree growing in main character’s garden. The professor told us the tree symbolized a penis and went on and on and on about that imaginary penis. I tried very hard to see where she was finding a penis in the description of the tree but failed completely.

When I complained to another student (the burly Mexican dude I wrote about previously), he had an explanation.

“The prof is a lesbian,” he said. “Just let it go, you are too young to get this stuff.”