Thinking of Pizza, leave it to the Professionals

So, after leaving New York City at rush hour last Friday night, my wife and I eventually got home around 7:30PM.  I didn’t want to cook anything, but then remembered I had a three-month-old Paul Newman frozen thin crust pizza sitting in my freezer.  I had never had one before, but I’d heard Paul’s stuff was very good, and with all of the donations their organization makes…good karma needed to be coming my way.  We normally cook and bake out of the smaller top oven in our new oven “system”. I started preheating and then noticed the instructions said, “Do not place pizza on a cookie sheet, place frozen pizza on the oven rack.”  I didn’t like that idea, especially since the top oven/microwave gizmo does not have any racks.  The wife says, just use the bottom oven, that has racks.  Fine, now I have to preheat this bottom oven, which took literally 40 minutes.  Modern technology is a wonderful thing.  Once it was done, I opened the bottom oven door and there was a large cauldron sitting on the racks which at that point was glowing red.  The intense heat coming off it steamed up the peepers I was wearing. The wife says, you’re lucky it wasn’t a quilt we were storing in there.  

So, I cooked my Paul Newman pizza and now have to get it off the oven rack.  Luckily there was minimal cheese spillage, but I still needed to figure out how to get it off the rack.  I had gathered a collection of weapons to address the situation, as well as a very thin plastic cutting sheet.  My thought was, sheet is very thin, but strong enough to withstand sharp cutting, it’ll be perfect to slide under the pizza.  Naturally, in the back of my mind I’m thinking, this plastic time bomb is going to explode into flames after about two seconds of extreme heat.  As it turns out, I was able to grab the edge of the crispy pizza crust, and drag it onto the thin, very thin plastic cutting sheet with absolutely no issue.  Euphoria has now enveloped me; I have single-handedly conquered the Frozen Pizza Challenge.  But then I got greedy.  As I was masterfully pulling my pizza out of the oven, I noticed a small chunk of burnt cheese sitting in the craves at the bottom of the oven door.  (Keep in mind, I’ve never been a waiter) I decided that if I just reached back down, while holding my pizza on the very, very thin plastic sheet, I could kill two birds with one stone.  Big Mistake!  Before I could reach the burnt cheese crumb, a combination of things happened - a complete report from the crimes against humanity commission is pending.  Said pizza got wings and flew off my plastic sheet onto the floor…face down.  For about two seconds I thought I’d be able to quickly pick it up and the crispy browned cheese topping would stay intact.  Then my wife pinched me and I awakened from that dream.  She then reminded me, she never said she was going to eat the Paul Neuman pizza, but I did.  I spent the rest of the night picking dog hair off my tongue.

Lessons Learned:  First, always order your pizza from a professional, and have it delivered.  Next, the fact that the Burn Unit didn’t play into the story speaks volumes to my personal growth.  And finally, you would think I’d know better.  I do an AARP presentation on Brain Health.  In it, there is a section on Tips to Help with Focus.  Number three is Avoid Multi-Tasking.  Like when you’re sitting in the family room watching TV and decide you’re going to walk into the kitchen and get a couple of cookies, that your wife thinks she’s hidden.  But along the way, you see a dust bunny trying to hide under a chair.  You then decide to go to the closet and get the vacuum cleaner because you’ve lit a fuse, and this has to be taken care of now.  And from there, you’re off to the races.  By the time you get around to those cookies, it’s 11PM and you’ve upset your stomach just in time for bed.  So much for restorative sleep.

Airport Cuisine and the new Terminal C

So Superbowl Sunday is approaching, and I am scheduled to hop on a plane out of Newark airport and head to SoCal to see a family member, some friends from school, and catch the Super Bowl.  At the last minute my ride to the airport had to cancel.  I was forced to attempt to grab a ride with Uber.  I use Uber about once a year, and each time I do, the learning curve is painful. I can feel angst brewing as I’ve never used Uber to go to the airport, and there is dangerously little time to spare.  You combine that with my overall distain for hand-held technology and my stomach now has something to be volcanic about.  

Miraculously, I connect with any number of potential Uber drivers.  It’s as if a dozen drivers are parked at the end of my street, waiting for me call.  They can all be at my address within three minutes.  My driver gets me to the airport in record time.  I cruse through security unscathed (pinch me, am I still alive), and walk to my gate in Terminal C.  

At my gate, the emergency door alert is stuck on.  The piercing high pitched noise is easily at migraine-pain level.  And my hearing aids are having a field day weaponizing the volume of the noise even further.  It’s as if they’re mocking me, saying, “Look how unbearable I can make this noise for you.”  God forbid they actually make a low-talker’s voice audible in a restaurant.  I’m at a point where it felt like I had two Ginsu steak knives going through my ears, trying to meet in the center of my brain.  

In an effort to escape the noise and avoid an aneurism, I decide to investigate the various new eateries within enhanced Terminal C.  I’ll be dining with the folks at “The Panini Shop.”  With my early arrival, I had the time to grab my meal and sit at a table to eat in a somewhat civilized manner.

My meal of choice is the Cuban Sandwich.  This hot, pressed sandwich has, turkey, ham, swiss cheese, pickles and mustard.  I’m not exactly sure what’s Cuban about this sandwich, but it seems like a benign consumable, which is mission critical at this point. I also purchase a bottle of ultra expensive organic raspberry ice tea.  I’ve never heard of the brand before, so it must be something new and extremely good, otherwise, why would they charge so much, right?  All told my panini and ice tea costs me $34.  Thirty-four-dollars!  I know, it was at the airport, and it was in the newly refurbished Terminal C, so somebody has to pay for that renovation.  But $34, come on.

So, I get my $34 meal in a bag and I find a table to sit at.  The chair is positioned a bit further from the table than it should be, but it’s made out of concrete. It doesn’t move. I sit down and pull my panini clamshell shaped container out of the bag.  What I didn’t realize was there was a decent amount of panini oil in the container, a container that I thought was hermetically sealed.  It was not.  The angle of me pulling the container out of the bag, caused a healthy amount of oil to pour onto the crotch area of my jeans.  (The only jeans I have for this trip, a 7-day trip.)

I did my best to clean up the situation with napkins, which only made it worse.  Then I opened the lid on my expensive ice tea, and tasted it.  I thought the panini oil had more flavor. I came to the conclusion that maybe it needed to be shaken first.  I twisted the cap back on the bottle.  I thought it was tight.  Again…it was not.  As I shook the bottle, I got my second shower of the day.  When I got on line to board the plane everyone gave me a lot of space.  Seems nobody wanted to stand next to the crazy old man who wet himself.

Anthropology and Expensive Rocks

In the words of Charlie Brown, during Halloween Trick or Treating, “I got a rock.”  

To level set this story, I’m not a social media superstar, not a rising star, not even a mundane asteroid.  When people ask me if I’m on social media, I get queasy.   There are just way too many screens and buttons that can lead to angst.  And considering my complete lack of technical aptitude, I’m sure I’d have an easy time breaking it.  Then I’d have to crawl to my wife and beggingly say, “look what I did, can you fix it?”  

So, my annual gift-giving trifecta from hell is fast approaching.  In less than a month, I have to come up with three creative, and thoughtful gifts to address my wedding anniversary, the wife’s birthday, and Christmas.  According to my calculations, I’m more than a little past middle age, and as much as I’d like to think of myself as creative, I’m not.  After thirty years of this torturous gauntlet, I have no tricks left up my sleeve.  I can do maybe, one clever gift a year, but three in less than a month?  Sure, and if Pigs could f...What I should do is have a LLADRO commissioned that depicts a bunch of pigs flying around.

It’s now the night before Thanksgiving.  My daughter and her husband have come over for dinner and some pre-Thanksgiving beverages.  After dinner we’re sitting in the family room talking.  My daughter announces to my wife that she wants to give her Mom her birthday gift early, as they won’t be with us during the actual day of her birthday.  I’m holding my breath, praying that she doesn’t go overboard with the gift, and thus wind up embarrassing me.  (Remember, it’s all about me.) 

My daughter is exuberant.  She explains that this gift is something she knows my wife was looking for, and really wanted.  Oh Crap!  This is not going to be good…for me.  My wife is very excited.  As she’s ripping the paper off the box, she says, “Colleen, you didn’t?  How did you get one?  They’re sold out everywhere!”  Now I know I’m really screwed.  I should have just gotten her a thoughtful card, taken my lumps and found an acceptable hotel to live in.

As the gift is emerging from the box, my wife, almost jumping out of her skin with enthusiasm, asks my daughter, “Colleen, how much did you pay for this!?!”  I tried to remind my wife that it’s not polite to ask how much a gift costs, but I was too late.  My daughter quickly responds in a proud tone, “Well it wasn’t too bad, I got it as part of a pre-Black Friday sale.  It was $300, but I got it for $150.”  The excitement between my daughter and wife was palpable.  

My wife reaches into the box and pulls out…a rock.  Yes, a rock.  It’s about five inches long, about three inches high and two inches thick.  It’s speckled, white and gray-ish, heavy on the ish.  And, it smells like perfume.  My daughter proclaims, “It’s an Anthro Rock!” from the Anthropologie store, which I’m guessing, must be a wonderful thing.  When I think of the Anthropologie store, the only thing that comes to mind is overpriced clothing which I’m unable to appreciate.  My next thought was, if the world economy collapses, I wonder how much the Anthro Rock will be worth.  I bet it’s more than a bitcoin. And along with that thought was, what is the return policy for the rock?  

My son-in-law is looking like he’s either very confused or in shock.  He offers up, “So we can use it to hold down napkins on the dining room table during dinner tomorrow?  My daughter replies, “No, it’ll be the center piece!”

I know better than to open my mouth and offer my opinion, as I’ve ruined many a family gathering by saying exactly what’s on my mind.  These days, even if I’m aggressively questioned, I no longer take the bait and speak.  I just do my best imitation of Marcel Marceau, and nod in agreement.  You can teach an old dog new tricks!

My daughter and wife are giddy as they ogle over the rock, discussing details about it.  Then my daughter, in a very jovial tone, asks us, “But you get why it’s so special, right?”  And with that, I took the bait and swallowed it whole.  I’m thinking, well I have a good shot at blowing up Thanksgiving this year, but she did ask. So I said, “I feel like I’m being punked.”  And with that, both my wife and daughter broke out into uproarious laughter.  

The Anthro Rock gag is being played out worldwide and videos of these events are being put on social media – mainly, Instagram and TikTok, neither of which I subscribe to.  My daughter dug this rock out of the garden in front of her building.  She washed the dirt and grime off said rock, and perfumed it with a scent she hadn’t worn in years.  And the cherry on top, to video this deception, she secretly placed a camera on our fireplace mantel amongst the turkeys and pilgrims.  All parts of the diabolical plan to deceive and embarrass us, on Thanksgiving. 

Fair warning my friends, evil lurks among us.

50th High School Reunions & Fossils

Sometimes life will send us to unexpected places.  I recently received an email from some entity who claimed to have gone to high school with me.  I recognized the name, but being the overtly paranoid soul that I am, I was sure it was a scam.  So, I decided to perform my own forensic due diligence, and miraculously, when I eventually clicked on the link, my laptop didn’t erupt into a flaming mess.

The last time I had seen this person, he was streaking across the quad during our senior year.  He informed me that we had a 50th Pascack Hills High School reunion coming up shortly. There are two people that I still see with from high school.  One of my concerns was that people would approach me and I’d look back at them confused, as if I had dementia, which my wife says can’t be too far away.   (Note: latest science says only 30% of your dementia destiny is tied to your genes. 70% is tied to how well you take care of yourself.  So get those walks in and have a salad!)  

The morning of the reunion, they had scheduled a tour of the high school and then a lunch.  I thought they were joking.  I told them that in my current state, I could either do the morning/lunch events or the main evening event.  My tank no longer holds enough fuel to do both.  Notice I say fuel, not gas.

So, it’s now three days before the reunion, and I’m signed up for what has the potential to turn out to be a magnificently awkward evening.  With that, our daughter finally received her summer wedding photos.  She emailed them to me – great!  I was amazed.  I could not figure out how they got ahold of a picture of my grandfather and had him walking my daughter down the aisle.  A commensurate amount of sobbing ensued. 

During the reunion people were commenting to me, “What, no wife, or did you get a hall pass?”  I told them it was not a problem.  As I was driving away, I looked back at the front window of our house, and could see my wife doing cartwheels in the living room. When all was said and done, outside of not being able to lie to anyone about my age, I actually had a very good time at the reunion.  My famous wrestling coach, Bucky Rehain showed up. On his birthdays, he does his age in pushups.  The last one was 82…so I hate him. I could do that too; it would just take me a couple of weeks to complete.   In the end, I’m pretty sure I was coherent the whole night and I drank a lot coffee which kept my spirits high.

Ten days after my high school reunion, I made a trip down to Glassboro, NJ and connected with three close friends at our college for a mini 46th reunion.  Back when we were enrolled, it was Glassboro State College.  Then in 1992, Henry Rowan donated a $100 million to the college.  This gift created a juggernaut that propelled the college into becoming a diverse, outstanding University.  Rowan University is a great example of what millions of donation dollars can do, “IF” it is used wisely.  We got a very personalized tour that not only impressed the bejabbers out of me, but also left me quite jealous.  Long gone are the days when breaded mystery meat, aka New Hampshire, was the main dish at the dining hall. Now, with all the choices they have, the students might as well be at Epcot in Disney World. 

Having parked our cars at the hotel, a new Marriott, we toured the town in the evening.  When we were students back in the 70s, the town was a…let’s just say there was no reason to go there.  But now, because of the strong partnership between the university, the town, the state, and private business, extensive reconstructive surgery was performed in the downtown area, and this rebuilding continues today.  Rome wasn’t completely built in a day.  Our last stop at the end of the evening was to a massive sports bar where I was brutally reminded of how old I am.  We stayed too long, and I’m pretty sure I was overserved. 

The next day we went to the Edelman Fossil Park & Museum…of Rowan University.  Ric Edelman and his wife Jean are significant donors to the University and especially Fossil Park.  It’s about 10 minutes from the main campus, and an hour and thirty-five minutes from Bedminster.  The Park opened in May of 2025 and is run by world renown paleontologist and explorer, Dr. Ken Lacovara. (Ken went to South America and unearthed the largest, and never before found dinosaur, which he named, Dreadnoughtus…meaning “fears nothing.”  At 65 tons, it weighs more than seven T.rex.)  Ric, Jean and Ken are all graduates of Rowan University / Glassboro State College.

The Park has an area where digs are continually happening.  If you uncover a 66-million-year-old fossil, you can bring it home.  One of the exhibits in the Museum, talks about a 1000-page book on the complete history of earth.  In the book, the dinosaurs appeared with 41 pages left.  Human History, are the last five LETTERS of the book!  We’re newbies, I don’t feel so old anymore.

Dr. Lacovara also makes a point of dispelling the notion that dinosaurs were unintelligent, slow-moving, unable to adapt creatures.  Think about it, whenever a company is thought to be losing their competitive edge, they’re referred to as, “A Dinosaur Headed for Extinction.”  Now don’t get me wrong, the dinosaurs weren’t solving complex math problems, but dinosaurs existed and adapted for 165 MILLION years.  Let’s see if we can find any country or company with that kind of longevity. 

In conclusion, ‘It’s a small world, after all.’  Or is it?  The person I went to high school with, who alerted me to the reunion…for the last 25 years, we’ve lived two miles from each other and never knew it.

Snail Farming for Fun & Profit...and Tax Evasion

Recently, I was reading about a real estate tax scam that criminals are using in London.  It goes something like this: They set up a shell company that breed snails in an empty office block. (the snails are actually bred in shoe boxes, seriously.) Then they claim that the office block is legally, against all indications to the contrary, a farm, and therefore exempt from paying real estate taxes.

This sounds so familiar, where have I heard this before?  Ah yes, the New Jersey Farmland Assessment Act, where wealthy New Jerseyans offload their real estate tax burden onto the vast majority of the middle class.  I need to reread the Farmland Assessment Act and see if Snails qualify.  This would be great for ALL New Jersey residents.  We would just need to buy a pair of shoes, avoid recycling the box and instead, start a snail farm – Genius!  If you want to go big, think about those boxes that printer paper comes in.  You could become the snail king or queen of Somerset county.  The only problem in doing this, we’d run the risk of collapsing the thriving escargot industry.  But fair is fair.  You win some, you lose some.

The above situation is real, as is the situation in New Jersey where people who own at least five acres of property, often claim that they are farmers…against all indications to the contrary.  The Farmland Assessment Act was originally implemented to help poor farmers who could not afford to pay their rising real estate taxes.  Unfortunately, the skinflint wealthy are using it today to avoid paying their fair share of real estate taxes.  Instead, they want their neighbors to pay their taxes for them.  Nice, right!?!

Listed below is the gist of a recent letter I sent to the Governor asking him for a small measure of help to right the wrongs being put upon the large middle class of New Jersey.

Listed below are some reasonable solutions for your consideration:  

1) Increase the Inspection Fee from $25 to $295 ~ (The current $25 fee established in 1964, makes doing inspections unaffordable for the towns, due to current costs)

2) Increase the minimum acreage requirement from Five to Ten acres 

3) Establish a $400,00 ceiling for applicant’s New Jersey Gross Income (Line 29 on the NJ 1040) ~ (Most New Jersey social programs like ANCHOR, Medicaid, SNAP, etc. have income limits to be able to use the program)

4) Increase Fraudulent Claim Fines from $5,000 to $25,000

These simple, easy to implement changes will have a major, positive impact on New Jersey’s middle class.  At the same time, it will not affect the larger properties that are actually working farms.  Hoping you see the merits to these actions, and can execute some, if not all of them.

Folks, if this does not work, I say we give snails a shot.  Worst case we avoid having to add them to the endangered species list sometime in the near future.

The Sedition Act of 1798 Reincarnated

Just like bringing back bellbottom jeans, or the mohawk haircut, it appears that, “the man who would be king” is trying to reincarnate John Adams’ Sedition Act of 1798.  Quick refresher: In 1798 president John Adams tried to ban what he considered "bad press" by signing the Sedition Act of 1798.  The Sedition Act made it a crime to publish or print "false, scandalous, and malicious writing" against the president and his government. Fortunately for John, late night TV was centuries away.  Conveniently forgetting about the First Amendment, this controversial law was primarily used to suppress and prosecute newspapers that supported Adams political opponents, especially the Democratic-Republicans, aka the Jeffersonian Republicans.  Isn’t it scary how quickly people in political office forget the pillars of our democracy, and do whatever it takes to stay in power.

The Jeffersonian Republican party eventually became today’s Democratic party.  Today’s Republican party was established around 1850 with the collapse, or thinning of the Whigs.  I’m in my late 60s, and for crying out loud, where’s a good Whig when you need one?

There is hope for us and the First Amendment.  John Adams was the last of the Federalist party to hold the presidency.  The Sedition Act was wildly unpopular and Jefferson crushed him in the 1800 presidency elections.  I know this all to be true, as I just saw the play, Hamilton.

Jefferson was not a perfect man, but again, I say, “For crying out loud, where are the Jeffersons of our day?”  We need them.  Doesn’t the Smithsonian have one of his hair or tooth brushes?  And can’t we gather some of his DNA from those brushes and create ourselves a modern-day Jefferson?  I’ve watched every Jurassic Park movie that’s been released, we have the technology to make this happen.  As long as the scientists don’t accidently mix a smidge of T-Rex DNA in Thomas’ we should be good to go by the next election.

If we want to seal the deal, there is another DNA sample we can look into acquiring.  If we step back into the 1630s, around Boston and what is now Rhode Island, we’ll find Roger Williams.  Initially a puritan minister, Williams arrived in Boston in 1631.  He had a strong belief in free speech, including the dicey thought that a person had the right to worship as they wished.  He was also a strong proponent of the concept: “Separation of Church and State.”  Thomas Jefferson studied some of Williams’ writings.  

Williams also preached and wrote about it, a lot.  So much so that he established a large following.  And if you think we have rigid folks in political and religious office today, let’s just say the folks running the show back then lacked any sense of humor.  Think about it, have you ever seen a picture of a smiling pilgrim?  The answer is, no.  They always have severe looks on their faces.  You try being seasick for weeks, arriving in a blizzard, and spending the next three months dodging arrows and chopping down trees for housing.  Not too much to laugh about.

One thing the Bostonians always seemed to have was an ample supply of was tar and feathers.   And unfortunately for Willams, the ruling party in the quaint New England hamlet had enough of his act, tried him in 1635 and convicted him of, you guessed it, “Sedition.”  Free Speech, Separation of Church and State…Heresy!  Luckily for Williams, there was a shortage of feathers that winter so they decided to banish him instead.  Within a year of banishment, he established a settlement which he named, Providence.  Within Providence, Baptists, Quakers and Jews could all worship as they pleased.  And one of the first rules of the settlement was, Separation of Church and State.  Providence became the first town in modern history to separate church and state.

So, we’ve had a long history, almost 400 years, of authoritarian rulers who have tried to control free speech because it threatened their power.  Luckily, over time, we’ve had dedicated, insightful leaders who fought against this control.  These leaders had in their minds, the main tenets of the First Amendment of our Constitution: protecting freedom of religion, speech, press, assembly, and petition, which they fought for with their lives.  I believe our challenge today is to speak up when we know the main tenets of our Constitution are being broken, (write to your Congressman & Senators) and do not accept lies as fact.

Hoping we all avoid banishment this winter, unless it’s to some place warm – and inviting.

The ICEmen Cometh & Superman Too

To be fair, we did need better control at our borders.  During the previous administration, our country was exposed to the world like a Moroccan fair (Thank You, Schitt’s Creek).  

And it would be naïve to think that we weren’t letting a number of what I call Very Bad People, (aka the VBP-13 gangs going forward), waltz into our country with identification paperwork written in crayon. 

The VBP-13 gangs have a violent history, and are undoubtedly doing harm to our country and the people within it.  Thank goodness we have the new, flush with cash, Immigrations and Custom Enforcement (I.C.E.) Machine.  

Depending on what AI search tool you use, their new budget is anywhere from $10 to $29 billion, all the way up to $170 billion for 2025.  Not millions, but Billions!  For comparison purposes, the budget for the National Parks system, with over 400 locations is ~ $3 billion.  That’s before any further defunding happens.  

Remember the wealthy need every penny of those tax breaks, they’re saving for a private island.  (Note: A subset of National Park staff, “The Erasers” are now trying to repair our majestic parks that have been defaced.  There aren’t enough park rangers employed to keep the bad actors in line).  

In any case, with that kind of massive ICE funding, I have to think that we’ll not only be able to scoop up every VBP-13 gang member in existence, but we’ll also get every jaywalker strolling across all fifty states.  I can’t wait for the glorious headlines!

Make no mistake though, this job that the ICE Agents have is a tough one, seriously.  And recruiting is not easy.  Rumor has it that signing bonuses for new ICE agents is rivaling those of major league baseball.  

But fear not, we now have Superman on our team.  Or at least Dean Cain, the guy who played Superman in the 1990s.  He’s 59 years old now.  I’m not sure how old that is in Crypton years…somebody please, google that one.

Here’s the thing, for most men, even super men, at 59 years old, the need for a 2 PM nap becomes nothing short of critical.  And add the need to pee, more than frequently, and you’re creating a mission impossible situation.  With that, I’m picturing an aging superman about to make a major bust on a nasty bunch of VBP-13 gang members.  It’s 4:30PM, way past nap time, and he’s been crouched down for three hours drinking coffee.  To make matters worse, there’s not a bathroom in sight.  This is not going to end well.

But there should be light at the end of the tunnel coming for Dean and a good number of ICE Agents, as well as the National Guard.  First, keep in mind that the current administration, many of them with extensive reality television backgrounds - really enjoy good press.  It’s in their DNA.  You would think that any arrests against the VBP-13 gang members would be on the news in bold flashing lights.  I have seen none.

Even with the mayor of New York City negotiating away his indictment, and agreeing to vigorously help ICE – There are No big headlines of VBP-13 arrests.  How can that be?  They have enough funding to put a man on Jupiter and simultaneously feed every child on our planet, and probably Jupiter’s too.  And they have Superman.  What more could they need?

Well, this might be the reason:  The vast majority of Mr. Freeze’s ICE men are not going where the VBP-13 personnel hang out, and create mayhem.  

Instead, our ICE men are positioning themselves at the doors of Home Depot, picking off outdoor workers carrying bags of grass seed – the kind that grows a lawn.  The vast majority of these ICE targets appear to be gainfully employed, doing jobs that the residents of the areas have no interest in doing themselves.  Hanging outside of baseball parks in Los Angeles is another area where ICE Agents have been seen stationed on the job.  Could it be they received a tip that the major league ball clubs are hiring non-union players that are actually illegal immigrants? Thankfully, Dunkin Donuts is unofficially off limits as coffee and sugary donuts are considered sacred by the enforcement teams.  That supply chain cannot be disrupted.  

In other, “Let’s waste our nation’s money” news, the National Guard is now stationed in Washington DC.  But to paraphrase the ex-police chief of Washington DC, Charles H. Ramsey, Yes, DC like other large cities has a crime problem. But the National Guard is not being deployed to those areas where crime is high.  Well that just doesn’t make sense, does it?

Instead, the National Guard is being deployed at the Mall in Washington DC…with nothing to do.  I’ve heard they are now relegated to doing some light gardening, picking up trash and posing for action photos with tourists.  We now have the best equipped, most expensive garbage men on the face of the earth.  We’re Great Again!  So we have that going for us, which is nice. – (Thanks Carl Spackler.)  But still, no headlines about sending these notorious VBP-13 criminals to the swamps of Florida or further South.

But what’s really bugging me is a different group of illegal aliens.  They’re infesting, if you will, our neighborhoods.  They came to America from South East Asia, cleverly hiding on cargo ships.  Their financial impact to our area has been devastating.  Of course I’m speaking of the heinous Spotted Lantern Fly.  He’s back again and I want to know why our tax dollars can’t be used to deploy ICE agents or the National Guard, and rid us of this illegal alien menace.  When that happens, then you’ll see headlines!