Move On is asking people to not watch Donald Trump's state of the union speech. The goal is to gift this evil moron with bad ratings.
Bad ratings make Trump wet himself.
We can see the amusing parts of Trump's string of lies later on YouTube and late night comedy shows.
This week I tried to find out which came first, the dinosaur or the mammal. I fell short.
The easy answer to the question is that no one knows which came first; Dinosaurs and tiny mammals developed at about the same time. But new questions developed.
Along the way I learned that dinosaurs, warm blooded creatures, are classified as reptiles, which are cold blooded by definition. (The several different ways in which we sort animals into groups are "by definition.")
Apparently biologists have a rule, which is that an animal is the same thing as its ancestors. The ancestors of dinosaurs are reptiles, so dinosaurs are reptiles.
Mammals are not descended from reptiles but from an earlier life form called amniotes. (Reptiles also developed from amniotes.)
Birds, as you know, descended from dinosaurs, so birds are dinosaurs.
Dinosaurs are reptiles, so birds are reptiles, according to some but not all biologists.
You and I, by this logic, are amniotes, parts of the amniote glade.
Humans invent categories that we find useful. That can take us down many forking paths.
We know who Trump is, but who was Epstein?
According to a NY Times columnist, Epstein grew up on Coney Island, where he learned how to groom teenage girls for sex and rich men for money.
What Epstein discovered is that many billionaires are, like Elon Musk or the Great Gatsby, ruthless dorks. Many, but not all, are charmless and friendless, unable to relate to others.
The lame rich had expected that enormous wealth would automatically gain them tickets to fantastic parties staffed by topless teenagers. Parties that might make up for the turndowns in high school.
But no one invited them to wild parties. Girls, aside from hungry EuroTrash, wouldn't look at these lame old goats.
Epstein. grooming girls, made the empty dreams of wrinkly rich men come true, in return for financial favors, until his time ran out.
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Susan is back from a labyrinthian local hospital of countless forking corridors. She is okay.
The doctors kept on testing her, so she missed four meals in a row. Nothing by mouth.
I tried to feed myself. The hospital cafeteria food was inadequate. I bought two meals there and threw both in a trash can.
I'm not choosy. I like canned hash. But everything I chewed in that cafeteria proved inedible except for a croissant. In most hospital food deserts, you can at least buy a banana or an apple. No such luck this time.
The next No Kings Day is March 28.
I'm 91. I've known four friends who had polio, but I never got it.
Sometimes I wear a black Antifa tee-shirt. My plan is to pull it on and walk in the street, leaning on a blackthorn.
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