One of these insipid internet adverts suggest I do the following:

What the fuck’n hell I’m supposed to watch?

They figure us scrollers are all stupid shits.

Go, ahead, click the link. See what happens.

Don’t bother clicking the link. I’ll tell you what happens. Nothing Happens.

Just another bullshit internet ad.

Thursday 27 February

I come awake in my van around five a.m. My first thought is, I made it another night in this van.

My second thought is, of course I made it. Why wouldn’t I make it? Nobody gives a shit I’m camping in my van. Cops don’t give a shit. Security guard drives through the lot every hour on the hour–he don’t give a shit. Drives right by me. Knows I’m in there, snoozing. He don’t give a shit. He’s busy sitting behind his wheel when he aint reading his phone. Fucker’s 70 years old. He’s not getting out of his car to whine about me camping in my car on this lot. Especially when the real cop don’t give a shit I’m here. All he cares about is getting through his shift. The Security Guard and the Cop are rational human beings. Unlike the pack of dildoes helming our current government. If he was like any among this crowd I’d be in trouble:

A cabinet of energetic swine. Ben Franklin’s rolling in his grave….

Anyway, I can’t think about these Yahoos. It makes me crazy.

I fire up the van and drive around the corner to the public head beside the newly revamped tennis courts.

This is a terrific spot to take a dump. Clean in there. Good lights. Plenty of toilet paper. Good spot. I need to appreciate this public toilet while I can. Any day now DOGE and the Rat Head running it will fire all the public works employees and there’ll be no more public bathrooms.

I hit the office

Quiet in here at six a.m.

I got my choice of empty seats. I set up my laptop.

Grab a coffee, just like this old fart. Yeah, he’s in here early too. Just another old fart.

Get on line. Maybe do this blog. First, though, I check Craigslist for boats. Nothing new. Internet tossing me clickbait, firing ads at me like scattershot. Mix toothpaste and vaseline…harden my dick with chair yoga…cure my endema with a foot vibrator…build a three bedroom house with this amazing butterknife…then…surprise…

Google sez Gene Hackman, the great actor, found dead

I check it out at the New York Post, my favorite Dirt Rag. Turns out a neighbor found the bodies of Gene, his wife and their dog. Nothing suspicious they claim.

Really?

Seems suspicious to me. Right out of the box.

Celebrity forensic pathologist Michael M. Baden appeared on Fox on Thursday and said he thinks the couple died of “accidental carbon monoxide poisoning.” He speculated that a car’s motor engine may not have been turned off and the exhaust went from the garage into the house, killing Hackman, Arakawa and their dog. “They don’t feel any pain. They don’t know anything’s wrong,” said Baden. “It’s silent, carbon monoxide, it’s painless, and they just go to sleep.”

I’m thinking this is a good way to go. Let the car engine lull you to sleep. That’s the ticket. I think I’ll follow suit. Die painlessly. Just go to sleep. I’ll need a garage. A house. A dog. Fuck’n’A’Christ! This means I’ll need to live a while longer…I can still go to sleep with the car running, but I wont die. I’ll merely come awake after a while as a van lifer…

News Flash!

The New York Post back tracks:

Gene Hackman and wife’s death investigated as ‘suspicious’ after door was open, pills were found…

No mention of the dog.

Looks to me like a murder suicide or a group suicide. Maybe not a group suicide. Don’t see the dog agreeing to it. Unless it was a real old dog, maybe ready and willing to cash in its chips. Well, the dog owners were old. Gene Hackman was 95 years old. His wife, Betsy, was 63. One of those May/September romances you hear about, especially with famous old dudes…yeah…but this one apparently worked out. They were married forty years. That’s kind of nice…But what about Betsy? 63 aint all that old! I wish I was sixty three again. I had energy. A roof over my head. Way better teeth. Back to the point. What was my point? Oh, yeah, this great actor is dead under now suspicious circumstances.

Suspicious circumstances could include a Murder/Suicide.

A murder suicide. That means one of the three did the murder part. Maybe Betsy figured this was a way of ending their lives with dignity. Gene’s hobbling around. Barely coherent. Dog’s pretty old, too. She decides to take matters into her own hands. She includes the dog because, well, because poor dog will be sniffing their bodies, running around, howling, disconsolate…or maybe not. Shit! I do not know why she included the dog. I’m not a fucking therapist!

Or Gene did it. Killed his wife, the dog, then himself. Figured suicide was way better than this sad decline he’s living. Could be this is how it played out. Or maybe not.

You think the dog did it?

WTF!

It is certainly tough getting old. I mean it’s hard enough putting up with old age under normal conditions. But when you toss in all the shit these Swine in the White House are stirring up. It just makes normal life all that tougher. It’s madness.

I’m done here. The madness is welling up and flooding my ears.

And to what end?

Nothing will happen but more madness.

It’s like mixing Vaseline and toothpaste.

Political Theater.

Like Doom Scrolling The Clickbait

Could be all this shit is inciting suicides.

I like to think James Carville is right. This government will collapse soon. He’s probably wrong. He’s been wrong lately. But he could be right.

Wishful thinking…