The Pope Rips a Gaping Hole in the English Language

Earlier this week, the Pope sent shock waves through the spiritual world by declaring that hell doesn’t actually exist. Although the theological ramifications of such a declaration are profound enough, the impact on the English language will be equally severe. With one sentence in one interview in one Italian newspaper, the Pope has managed to render meaningless a thousand colorful phrases that make up the respectable corner of communication known as soft profanity. If hell, in fact, does not exist, then the following expressions are rendered meaningless, and we are poorer for it!

1. Hell bent for leather.

Granted, in the best of times I’ve never quite understood this one, but now that hell isnt a thing it makes even less sense.

2. Catching hell.

Since it’s impossible to catch something from nothing, this one has to go.

3. Going to hell in a handbasket.

Another strange formulation which will be put out of its misery by the Pontiff.

4. Until hell freezes over.

Not gonna happen. Ever. 

5. Come hell or high water.

I’d bet on the high water.

6. A snowball’s chance in hell.

Again...my money is on the snowball.

7. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

While it has always been difficult to describe the intensity of a wronged woman’s  vindictiveness, with this latest papal decree, one of the best descriptions ever cobbled together in the English language has lost its effectiveness. Back to the drawing board.

8. All hell breaks lose.

Not any more.

9. Raising hell.

Impossible.

10. There will be hell to pay.

No. There will not. Thanks to the Pope, we all have one less creditor to worry about.

Your Friday News Roundup

Friday, March 30, 2018

A roundup of the day’s news:

Laura Ingraham, in another inflammatory Tweet, has suggested that 17 year old anti-gun spokesman David Hogg forgot to do his math homework twice in one week during his troublesome junior year algebra II class.

In his Yankee debut, outfielder Giancarlo Stanton hit two titanic home runs, forever cementing his place among the most despised and reviled Yankees of all time, and casting a dark cloud over the future of the game of baseball in every city in America that’s not New York.

To the profound relief of hundreds of millions of sinners throughout the world, the Pope today proclaimed that there is no hell. Instead of eternal punishment after an unrepentant life of selfishness and debauchery, the formally damned masses can now look forward to the sweet bliss of simply disappearing. “It was all just a terrible misunderstanding,” the pontiff explained.

After hanging around since last freaking August, millions of shriveled, crunchy dead brown leaves have finally begun giving up their death grip on the area’s live oak trees. Warmer temperatures and yesterday’s gusty winds apparently convinced them of what everyone thought was painfully obvious long ago...that there really was no longer any point of pretending that they were actually living leaves. 

In the longest stretch of controversy-free days of the Trump Presidency, major news organizations marked “day four” with cautious optimism, as there have been no firings, no embarrassing Tweets, no new porn star allegations, and no creepy crypto-sexual references to daughter Ivanka since early Monday.

Joke Therapy

My friend is home now and improving day by day. Still, some days are better than others. Since yesterday wasn’t a great day, I decided that I would try to lift her spirits. But, how?

Really horrible Dad Jokes, that’s how!

One of the great things about the internet and search engines is the fact that nobody ever has to wonder about anything anymore. Last night for example, I was sitting at my desk in the library wondering if there existed anywhere a collection of Dad Jokes. A quick Google search yielded the answer with a resounding YES!! In a nanosecond, thousands of them were at my fingertips, organized and annotated for my convenience. I put together a quick best of collection and fired them off in a text message to my friend. In doing so I was taking a big risk. I mean, if you are fighting off nausea, it might not be a great idea to read something like this:

How does a penguin build it’s house?.......... Igloos it together.

or

Want to hear a joke about paper?........... Nevermind, it’s tearable.

But, on the other hand, sometimes really corny jokes are actually hilarious, so bad they’re good. Like this one:

Why do you never see elephants hiding in trees?...... Because they’re so good at it!

and

A furniture store keeps calling me. All I wanted was one night stand.

Well, I hope it helped. I might not be able offer any tangible help to my friend, but when it comes to mindless humor, I’ve got the market cornered!

On another note...this morning I finished reading the Bible in 90 Days. Actually, I got it done in 88 Days but who’s counting? Most significant spiritual exercise I have ever completed. A few observations:

Favorite Old Testament book....Ruth

Least favorite Old Testament book...Ezekiel 

Favorite New Testament book.....Acts

Least favorite New Testament book....Revelation

The most dominant, consistent theme I encountered in the Bible was the fact that God really, really can’t stand proud, arrogant people.

Another big theme that appears throughout is that God expects us to take care of poor people, the sick, widows, orphans and the stranger among us.

One more thing...after reading the entire Bible in such a short period of time, the one overwhelming feeling that came over me was the realization of how little I really know. 

An Accounting

One week from today, I will turn 60. It’s been quite a while since any birthday has so occupied my thoughts as this one has. For those of you who are older, you might consider this obsession quaint and perhaps even irritating. For those of you who are younger, the fact that I am turning 60 might be the cause of great anxiety...Wait, if Mister D is 60, that means that I too am getting,(gulp)...old!

It’s just a number, I’m told. 60 is the new 50, I’m told. Age is merely a human construct. You’re as young as you feel. These are the assurances I hear from friends. 

It’s just a number...Yes. A large number.

60 is the new 50... Advances in medical science and the resulting increases in human lifespan may in fact make this one true. But, if true, this means that ultimately 100 will be the new 90, and I take little comfort in that prospect.

Age is merely a human construct... This is psycho-babble...a phrase that is meant to sound wise and profound but actually means virtually nothing, or worse, anything you wish for it to mean.

You’re as young as you feel... Ah...here’s the rub. Feelings, a notoriously unreliable indicator of anything! You can feel fantastic, right up to the instant when you get run over by a truck. Physically, I feel pretty good. But I do not feel as good as I felt when I was 25, and anyone who claims to is a liar who is most likely trying to sell you bogus testosterone supplements. Mentally, I feel sharper than I’ve ever been, something I am very grateful for, but maturity hasn’t always brought enlightenment with it. Too often, the accumulation of experience brings greater cynicism, more skepticism, a stubborn rigidity...Get off my lawn!! I fight this off at every turn.

So, I turn 60 next week. To stave off any hint of self pity, an accounting of life’s blessings seems in order.

I’m in good health.

My wife is smart and beautiful.

I work with honorable men and women.

My children have never embarrassed me despite the fact that the reverse has never been true.

My daughter married a gem of a man.

My son is about to marry a gem of a woman.

My large extended family have lived lives largely free of scandal.

I have friends, old and new, who make me proud.

I am not now, nor will I ever be a member of AARP.

20 years after Lewinsky

What?...who hasn’t paid hush money to a porn star after having an affair while your third wife was nursing your newborn at home?

Trump vs Biden

I’m old enough to have seen the great Muhammad Ali fight. He was perhaps the greatest athlete I ever saw, and many of his fights were not only legendary but had legendary names as well. Who could forget The Thrilla In Manila, or The Rumble In The Jungle? Well, there’s a new champ in town, and there’s a new super fight brewing, begging for a legendary name of its own.

This past week, the American people were treated to perhaps the most dignified verbal exchange between two heavyweight politicians since the Lincoln Douglas debates. In one corner stood the former Vice President, in the other Donald Trump, current President of the United States. Joe Biden landed the first blow with the claim that if he had attended the same high school as Trump, he would have beaten him to a pulp, likening him to the “ugliest, fattest kid in the room,” proudly carrying the banner of bullying, fat-shaming, and declaring himself a cool kid. Clearly stunned by this sharp jab, the President landed a deft combination, accusing the balding Biden of being not only physically weak but promising that he would go down fast and hard, crying all the way.” And, this was just the first round! All this fight needs is a good name, one that would immortalize it for future generations. Let’s see now...

The Throwdown in Georgetown?

The Romp in the Swamp?

Going Ballistic in the District?

The Battle in the Capital?

Old Farts Throwing Darts?

Actually, with a little thought and some good old American showmanship, some aspiring entrepreneur could make a fortune here. Listen, worse things can happen than Trump and Biden beating each other up on live television for all the world to see, right? I mean, it’s not like we haven’t already beclowned ourselves as a nation anyway. Why not jump the shark and be done with it? We could have, like, tag team refs for the fight, alternating between Mitch McConnel and Chuck Schumer. Then, you know how they always have scantily clad women who come out between rounds carrying a sign with the round number on it? We could have Nancy Pelosi do that...fully and discreetly clad, announcing to the world that we Americans have evolved past the sexual objectification of women. Ring side seats could be sold via a lottery system, after setting aside the best seats for former Presidents, to insure full inclusion of all ethnic and cultural minorities for the crowd pan shots. This way, the world would see what a vast melting pot we truly are. When the rest of the world tuned in to this most highly rated television event in history, they would all say...”Wow!! Two seventy-something American politicians are actually fighting each other in a boxing ring...but look at how multi-ethnic that crowd is?! America...what a shining city on a hill!”

The ironic thing about this exchange between Biden and Trump this week has been the fact that I wasn’t even appalled by any of it. It no longer even had the power to embarrass me. My expectations for the professional deportment of politicians in Washington have been so obliterated, so inexorably lowered by the current occupant of the White House, that the spectacle of two grown men acting like a couple of pimple-faced middle schoolers on the playground during recess didn’t even phase me. This....is what we have become now.

American Politics and British Television

This week has conspired against blog writing with its combination of spring snow, early morning business appointments and whatnot. Consequently, several things have happened out there which have escaped comment, and since I know that many of you can’t possibly go a minute longer without my insightful analysis...

With last night’s eleventh hour passage of a 2,200 page, 1.3 Trillion dollar spending bill, both Republicans and Democrats owe every drunken sailor who has ever lived an apology. In Trumpworld, we are once again treated to the spectacle of an upside down universe in which despite having control of not only the White House, but both houses of Congress, the Republican Party manages to pass a budget which only Democrats are happy with. Winning.....

Apparently, we are entering the Porn Star period of the Trump Presidency, whereby with each passing day a new one pops up on CNN describing her dalliance with the Donald. Trump haters are appalled, Trump fanboys scream Fake News! The rest of us fall into the exhausted/overwhelmed camp. I take it all in and try to imagine what possible deviance a future Democrat President might be guilty of which would justify outrage from this batch of current Trump apologists. It occurs to me that, thanks to the Donald, the field has been permanently cleared for any and all future presidents who might have thought themselves disqualified for that office because of youthful indiscretions like, oh, I don’t know...rape, drug addiction, child molestation, serial infidelities, multiple bankruptcies, high treason. The Trump standard has ripped to shreds the old fear of skeletons in the closet being a candidacy killer. From now on, serial adulterers, multiple romps with porn stars, and multiple divorces will no longer prohibit someone from seeking and winning the Presidency. I will leave it to the reader to determine whether or not this constitutes progress.

Recently, Pam and I finished watching two more British dramas on Netflix...Shetland and Happy Valley. Every time we watch one of these shows I am overcome with with an inferiority complex. It’s been going on for years now. From Downton Abbey to Foyle’s War, from Broadchurch to Doc Martin, I watch British television and am forced to confront the awful truth that American television is mostly...trash. Sure, there are shining exceptions, but by and large, practically anything from the United Kingdom is superior to American programming. Pam made the observation that British actors universally give off the impression that they aren’t acting at all. In addition, British actors, both men and women look like ordinary people, that is...they are plain looking. The woman aren’t all size twos with fake boobs and slathered in make up. The men aren’t chiseled hunks with perfect skin. They look like people you would run in to at the grocery store. So, do yourselves a favor and turn off reality television and watch something...anything from the BBC. You’ll thank me later. HINT: you may have to turn on the English subtitles thing, since although English is in fact spoken in Shetland, the Scottish accents are so thick and so beguilingly delightful, many scenes must be watched a second time to figure out what the heck they were talking about!

Almost done with the Bible Reading project for 2018. Just six more days to go, and I haven’t missed a one. It might be the most spiritually significant thing I’ve done in my entire adult life. It has been at once challenging, exciting, confusing, thought provoking, comforting, disorienting, and life changing. When I’m done, I am going to miss what has become my 6:00 am ritual.