This is it, the last Hebraic links before some fat dude slides down your chimney and raids your bar while you’re sleeping. My healing continues apace, SP is doing the preps for our Christmas dinner (four kinds of tamales), and I’m gleefully going through a massive gift from one of our IRL Glib friends- a collection of old 45s and 78s, the thick pre-LP shellac types. It’s a hilarious mix of material ranging from Verdi to Frank Sinatra to Lawrence Welk.

So many birthdays today, I’m going to be forced to leave out a lot of good ones, but will manage to cite a guy who was known for self-consistency; the one and true TV mom; a guy who really could be differentiated; the inspiration for yesterday’s birthday boy Frank Zappa; a frequent recipient of tossed batteries; and a guy who has pretty much disappeared until 2024.

So, news.

 

“You expect me to actually believe my own bullshit? HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!”

 

I will not smoke it in the train, I will not smoke it on the plane.

 

She’s right. He’s not a third generation DC leech.

 

“We surrender, retroactively!”

 

I took a survey at our house and got a different result.

 

So wait, you want to collect welfare while you’re in college? Fuck you, get a job.

 

Judenrat.

 

For Old Guy Music today, I figured go ancient or go home. I was inspired by my Christmas gift. And sure, it’s ironic, but fuck, that’s some impressive playing.