
And speaking of fires:

And on we go. Somebody been reading this blog again:





And speaking of California:











Finally, a word from our sponsors:

Now get on with your week.

And speaking of fires:

And on we go. Somebody been reading this blog again:





And speaking of California:











Finally, a word from our sponsors:

Now get on with your week.

And from the Classics:

And on with the usual deplorable content:



Some self-affirmation:









And some deplorable Mom stuff:


And speaking of mommies:



And in a more classical vein, after last Friday’s annual physical:

But let’s move on from that, and into the usual mixture of smut, bad taste and slander:













Now for the “smut” part:



And if that’s what awaits you at your workplace, you should hit the road…


And the classical thought for the day:

Oh right, like you wouldn’t take a picnic basket to watch that happen.
Anyway, on with the usual Items Of Questionable Taste:











Now, about those situations involving a scantily-clad woman:



And one final reminder:

Now off you go, and make your choice for tomorrow.
Good grief. Imagine being a centrist Democrat (if such a beast exists anymore), and being presented with this list of presidential candidates at the polling booth:

I would demand a pistol with a single cartridge in the chamber, just to avoid making a choice out of that lot.
Too bad that even the most centrist of Democrats hate all guns, so that option wouldn’t be on the table, so to speak.
But for the typical raving loony Democrat voter of today, that list is an embarrassment of riches.

And as we started with pussy, we’re going back to that gratuitous sex theme (my place, my rules), here’s a classical take:

And back to the future:



















And on that note:



Yeah I know, and I don’t care if she looks like your neighbor’s wife.
Go to work, you filthy animals.