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Meet the F#ckers

My grandcat is an a$$hole. I love her, and she is so pretty, but she’s a huge a$$hole. Her brother is much more lovable but he comes with his own challenges. It’s Week Six? Seven? Don’t know, time has no meaning in the Upside Down. It’s whatever week it is, and my wife should be ecstatic but she is not. She should be ecstatic because our 20-something children are home with us again, ejected from their normal lives by COVID-19. Six months ago this would have been the best possible state of affairs, together again with those closest to us. The band reunited for one, spectacular farewell tour. Of course, how could we have known that the band would be a cage match featuring REO Speedwagon, the Grateful Dead and Neckdeep, with Gilbert Gottfried as the opening act? There’s a reason no one should know how sausage is made; this is the reason. As of today, here’s who’s/what’s in my house: My Wife , trying desperately to balance working from home with not working from home. As a sidel

Holy shirt.

In Annie they sang , “you’re never fully dressed without a smile.” I guess by those standards I’m naked. Since the pandemic began – what my daughter and her boyfriend call “the ‘rona” – I have kind of let myself go. In the beginning, communications about the whole COVID thing were fast and furious, and I was sitting at my dining room table trying my best to keep up while my newly expanded family swirled around me. You can get a flavor for that moment in time in my earlier blog post . It was 7 days a week, 12-plus hours a day, for a while – a few weeks at least. And I was focused on the work, plain and simple. Hunched over my laptop like a gargoyle atop Notre Dame, ultimately consigned to a bunker I built in my basement. (Public gratitude to my wife and kids for their help excavating.)  I didn’t much care what I looked like. I was shaving every three or four days. I had doubled down on T-shirts and basketball shorts. I didn’t wear socks for a month, maybe more. I was working on a Miami

The fault in our bipolar stars

 Kanye West for President. No, wait – I’m sorry – that wasn’t an endorsement, I was just reading aloud, shaking my head and rummaging around the kitchen for more bourbon. If you’re in Pennsylvania, you don’t need to worry because he won’t be on the ballot. But let’s be clear: if you do, for any reason, feel compelled to throw your vote away in an entirely invisible gesture that seems to say, “I don’t believe things could get any worse than they are right now, so let’s dance!” know that you can always write-in a vote for West, or his wife Kim , or their daughter North .  Short aside: While I condemn Kanye and Kim for imposing their dipshit reality-show-gone-awry cooties on their progeny, a not-small part of me is absolutely salivating at the prospect of an autobiography from their first born someday. It would be called North by North West , and she would have no idea why that’s funny. I am not a rap fan, which will not surprise anyone. Although I knew his name, I first became aware of K