Gun confiscation looms
Thank God that Pfizer, one of the true dons of the Big Pharma Crime Family, is now packaging Viagra, its precious billion dollar johnson jumper, into super jiffy “single packs.” The ad campaign announcing this exciting step in old fart hot-rodding has recently been carpet-bombing the cable waves.
Why these new “single pops” are some kind of wonderful advancement in something, I still have no clue. Is it because Pfizer was sick and tired of all the big burly men endlessly complaining about throwing their backs out because they dared to throw five or even—gasp—10 of these re-assuring turgidifiers in their toilet kits? I’m genuinely puzzled as to why a guy would ever give a flaming Pop Tart about these marvy new “single packs.” Let’s face it, what old gaffer would ever go on a Three-Day Thriller with his shapely 34-year-old yoga instructor without some solid back-up for ye olde hydraulics, say, a five-pack, minimum, because—well, you just never know. So yeah, ask your doctor about Viagra single-packs. Ask him why you would ever futz with all these little goddamn singles when you both know you need a Skittles-sized bag of those little blue bastards.
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Here’s Trump on his desperate “rigged election” fantasy—“You know what I’m talking about.” Uh, no, homey, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What the fuck are you talking about? No complacency! As they used to say in the 19th century—Vote early! Vote often!
Back in my college days of the early ’70s, there were some enjoyable, hash-enhanced conversations imagining the possibility that a woman would bring a certain mojo to the presidency, a mojo that a man is just basically clueless about, a mojo that would be a positive female force residing in the mind of our Prez. The direction of the conversation had us all eventually agreeing with the general principle of, “Well, shit, the crazy baldheads have been calling the shots for a very long time, and things really aren’t so luxuriously glamorous on This Rock that we wouldn’t at least let a gal have a shot at the doggone gig.” Why the heck not? It’s time, fercrissake.
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It’s now obvious that, for whatever skullduggerous reasons, the new Beatle flick by director Ron Howard, Eight Days A Week, will not be appearing in Reno theaters. To see it, you gotta view via the Hulu app on your laptop.
Greatest Beatle movie ever. Beautifully done. Unbelievably terrific. Watch it sometime soon. The footage Howard dug up and put together is extraordinary.
