Mystery To Myself
@mystery2myself
I say what's on my mind, in a mostly unfiltered way. It may not be suitable for people with delicate sensibilities. Enter at your own risk. Leave whenever you like. No DMs. No porn. I reserve the right to block anyone, at any time, for any reason.
The Trump Revulsion Index is redlining. But, as with all things Trump, he will undoubtedly find a way to go even lower. And, at this point, it's pretty obvious that he could care less about his popularity outside of the ecosystem enabling him. Note: The AP-NORC poll has been MIA since mid-June.
Saw The Odyssey on Tuesday. I like Nolan’s films, for the most part, but I wouldn’t call myself a fanboy. With that said, The Odyssey earns every accolade it’s been given: it is a truly spectacular film.
You can tell Trump and his fascist fellow travelers are feeling the heat when they start singing in unison from the Red Scare hymnal.
Cue the theme from Close Encounters, please. A photo from our epic journey in May of 2024 to the Grand Tetons, Yellowstone, Devils Tower, and the Badlands. What a trip.
My bad for referring to Martin’s talents in the past tense. Also, like so much of the ephemera from that period, the details of the event at which the photo was taken changed as they were told and retold. Here, I believe, is a poster for the actual event, the Golden State Country Bluegrass Festival.
Renaissance man that he is, here's Steve Martin in 1974 at the Golden Gate Bluegrass Festival, with John McEuen and Jerry Garcia. The banjo wasn't just a comic shtick for Martin. He was also an accomplished player.
I'm a little late on this week's poll numbers, which are slightly less abysmal for the Narcoleptic Cheeto than last week's. But, with a single approval number just a smidge above 40%, they still suck.
Now that it’s dawned on him he’s been chumped yet again by smarter adversaries, Wile E. Coyote wants a cut of Iran’s grift.
And, just so there's no mistake who the talking head in the right panel is, here's a more familiar look for Miller, before his Fox News makeover. It's easy to see why calling him a "dickhead" would be both a description and an insult.
Non compos mentis, of course. But, the fear and panic which has seized Trump’s tiny, sputtering lizard brain, coursed through his fingertips, and poured out into that post is quite palpable. And, if I do say do myself, exquisitely enjoyable.
Have we reached peak stupidity yet? Experts say: "Probably not."
It's another week, which means another abysmal round of poll numbers for the Narcoleptic Cheeto.
Dark Ages 2, coming soon to a country near you. Image by Nicola Jennings of The Guardian.
Day 500 of Life in Hell. The morale of its denizens remains at historically low levels, leading some to speculate that Beelzebub himself would poll higher than his orange minion.
Another slice o’ modern life, served up hot and fresh by Tom Tomorrow. @tomtomorrow.bsky.social
Trump medical examinations have been the stuff of fiction for at least a decade. Remember this guy?
Like a dung beetle, Reagan got the ball rolling. But the forces which put him in the White House were active long before Reagan ever came on the scene. The genius of Ronald Reagan, a professional actor, and Roger Ailes, his political consultant, was putting an electable facade on those forces.