Biden and the Muslims
That earlier $1.7 billion the previous administration FedExed Iran can’t be expected to last forever.
Of all the people who hoped that the Texas Attorney General would fail to persuade the Supreme Court to somehow reverse the election, I’m sure that the three top slots were filled by Biden, son Hunter and Kamala Harris, but running a close fourth would be the Ayatollah Khamenei.
I’m sure that Khamenei, who is rumored to have turned over the day-to-day running of Iran to his son, is hoping for a return to the good old days. With Biden in the White House and all those former Obama bootlickers back in business, I’m sure he expects another enormous infusion of cash.
That earlier $1.7 billion the previous administration FedExed Iran can’t be expected to last forever, especially not with all those nuclear centrifuges running 24/7.
Speaking of Muslims, I don’t happen to have any mosques in my neighborhood. I’m not boasting, you understand, just stating a fact.
But judging by the special status that Islam is granted in the western world, I just can’t imagine the authorities shutting down their religious services in England, France, Germany, Minnesota or Michigan.
Would those of you with personal knowledge of the status of the mosques where you live please file a report?
Your identities will remain unknown. I wouldn’t want the Ayatollah or his son declaring a fatwah with your name on it.
The Left claims to be science-oriented, but, as usual, they’re lying.
For instance, in spite of the data, they continue to insist that masks, social-distancing and lockdowns, are the best way to combat Covid-19, in spite of their having no effect after ten months.
They claim that an abortion isn’t murder although an embryo’s heartbeat can be recognized six weeks after the start of gestation. In spite of what the butchers at Planned Parenthood claim, if a human heart is beating and one second later someone has stopped that heart in mid-beat, it’s called murder unless the crime is committed by an abortionist.
These science lovers also claim that man’s activities are over-heating the atmosphere even though our climate was no different and pollution was far worse before the internal combustion engine was even a gleam in George Brayton’s eye.
Their most cockeyed bit of misinformation is that CO2 is a pollutant when it is the very thing that allows plant life to flourish; without it, trees and flowers would perish. Your garden would be dirt.
Besides, with a little additional warmth, England could start harvesting grapes again and the folks in New England and the upper Midwest would have lower energy bills.
I know it’s pointless to embarrass the politicians who break the very rules they insist the rest of us obey, lest we be fined or jailed, but I still can’t stop trying.
But how is it that the French Laundry, the la-di-dah restaurant in California’s Napa Valley, is allowed to stay in business?
In case it slipped your mind, that was the venue for Governor Newsom’s birthday dinner and, more recently, the scene of San Francisco’s Mayor London Breed’s night on the town.
Is the secret of the Laundry’s doors still being open that they’ve been comping these $500-a-head dinners?
I was happy to hear President Trump mention at his Georgia rally that he is no longer angry at Fox over its early election night call of Arizona going for Biden.
In the wake of Trump’s voicing his displeasure, I heard from a number of Conservatives giving up on the cable network.
It never made sense to me. I dare say he has more loyalists at Fox than he has at the White House. Off the top of my head, I came up with Tucker Carlson, Brian Kilmeade, Mark Levin, Laura Ingraham, Sean Hannity, Judge Jeanine Pirro, Mollie Hemingway, Charles Hurt, Victor Davis Hanson, Dana Perino, Steve Doocy, Greg Gutfeld, Candace Owens and Jesse Watters.
Bob Hunt sent along a tip: “Save the business cards of people you don’t like. Then if you ever hit a parked car accidentally, just write ”‘Sorry’ on the back of the card and leave it on the windshield.“
I suggest you don’t even think about parking in Bob’s neighborhood.
For reasons never explained, Mark Zuckerburg apparently gave $350 million to election officials this year. I suppose he could say he simply thought they were unappreciated and underpaid. But I hope he can see where others might jump to the conclusion that he bribed them to commit election fraud in pursuit of a Biden victory.
Although they still haven’t been able to come up with a Covid-19 bailout, Congress managed to find time to decriminalize marijuana at the federal level.
In reality, it is just one more attempt to lower the number of blacks behind bars. Next, you can assume Congress will be removing arson, looting and murder, from the books.
Over the years, people have told me I’m too nosey. Generally, they are people I’ve been married to at the time.
I don’t deny it. I simply state that I’m curious, and there’s nothing to stop people from telling me it’s none of my beeswax. Of course they have the right to not answer my questions, but they’re wrong if they say it’s not my beeswax. My business is writing and whatever I find out about what people think or do may well be grist for my little mill.
My favorite exchange is when we’d be with another couple and I’d asked the man or his wife a question and when it’s answered, the other half of the couple would turn, look at his or her spouse and say: "I never knew that!”
And he, she or I, would point out: “You never asked.”
The other day, I was talking to a friend and we were recalling the things in our lives that had made us laugh the hardest.
I recalled falling (yes, literally falling) on the floor three times: The first time, I was at the Egyptian theater in Hollywood, and Danny Kaye was being rushed through the knighting ceremonies so that an actual knight could kill him honorably in a jousting tournament (“The Court Jester”); next came Alan King doing his act at Harrah’s in Lake Tahoe; and the third time was while watching Richard Jeni’s TV special (“Platypus Man”).
I would have fallen on the floor the first time I saw Jackie Mason perform live at the Cañon theater in Beverly Hills. Th only reason I didn’t was because I was wedged between my wife and son, and there wasn’t any room to fall in front of me.
But the biggest single laugh I have ever heard came in the fourth grade at Hancock Park Grammar School. Rena Stein was delivering a report on the great explorers to a class filled with 10 year old Jewish kids.
When she informed us that Magellan had circumcised the world, they could have heard the howl of laughter a mile away.
Considering I’ve been living for 80 years, I have remarkably few regrets.
But two of them involve things I didn’t do, rather than those I did.
In one case, my wife and two friends were having dinner at a restaurant when I happened to notice that Fred Willard was at a nearby table dining with his wife. Although Fred Willard never made me fall off my chair or bed, he has probably made me laugh as many times as anyone in the comedy business. Whether it was on “America 2Night,” “SCTV,” “Modern Family,” “Everybody Loves Raymond” or in such comedy classics as “Waiting for Guffman” and “Best in Show,” the man could make me laugh just by opening his mouth. His gift was that he looked like a perfectly normal human being who could have been a leading man if he’d decided to play it straight, but as soon as he began speaking he could magically turn himself into a moron.
My regret is that I didn’t walk over to their table and thank him for all the laughs he had given me. It wasn’t that I was too shy. I just figured he was dining with his wife and he wouldn’t want to be interrupted by yet another fan. It was only in retrospect that I decided that since I wasn’t asking him to autograph his napkin for me and the whole thing would have taken about five seconds, he wouldn’t have minded in the least. But by the time I had come to that conclusion, they were gone. And now he’s dead, so unless we wind up in the same place, the opportunity has passed me by.
An even bigger regret involves the actor Sonny Tufts, a good-natured lug and the scion of a banking family that founded Tufts College.
I had occasion to interview him in late May of 1970. During the course of the interview, I asked him if he was aware that America’s preeminent movie critic James Agee held him in high regard. This came as news to Tufts who enjoyed a reputation as more a hunk of 6'4" blonde beefcake during the 40s than as any sort of actor.
But I told him that Agee would often pan the movies Tufts made, but end by chiding Paramount Studios for wasting the talents of Tufts, whom Agree regarded as a natural.
I told Tufts I would send him a collection of Agee’s reviews. But because the interview wasn’t set to run for another week and a half, I decided to wait and contact him after it ran and invite him to lunch. The guy was full of Hollywood anecdotes, often with himself as the butt of the joke.
But the day before the interview ran, I picked up the June 5th edition of the L.A. Times and found that Tufts had died the previous day of pneumonia at the age of 58.
Talk about regrets! It did lead me to vow to never postpone a compliment I thought a person deserved.
Even when a guy is in his 50s and appears to be in the pink, the one thing you know for certain is that you never know.
And that was a credo I lived by for nearly 50 years until I found Fred Willard dining five feet away and I foolishly allowed good manners to trump my natural instincts.
