Hot Air

The Glass, Half Full

Loyal Pencillistas know I waste few opportunities to criticize the lunkheads, lunatics, and anencephalics who all too often make up this holy land’s legislatures, police depts., and boardrooms. A casual reader of these screeds might even get the impression I think we live n the worst of possible places.

We don’t.

A glance at any day’s world news report makes me wish to clasp doughheads like Louie Gohmert or Rush Limbaugh to my bosom and call them brothers.

We do not behead people in this country.


Photo: Nicole Tung via Al Jazeera America

We do not cut the clitorises off little girls and young women in this country.

We do not stone women for having sex.

We do not force girls and young women into marriages.

We do not engage in the mass killings of people because we disapprove of the subtle differences in the ways they worship their gods.

We do not have a state religion.

All that said, I’m not going all Panglossian on you. We’re a mess, honestly, but it is natural for any human organization to be messy. Messiness is hard-wired in us.

I’ll take our mess, thank you.

[On second thought, I don’t think there are any circumstances under which I’d embrace Gohmert and Limbaugh.]


No, Not My Brothers

Dude, It’s Dry Out There!

Some fourteen pounds of marijuana were removed from the Bloomington market Sunday, acc’d’g to today’s Herald Times (paywall).


That means a lot of panicky phone calls are being made around town this week.

Drop Dead

Wait, wait, wait — can this be true?

The Los Angeles Times reports that anywhere from 12 to 24 percent of the Central American kids who’ve been booted out of this country because they were “illegal” and whose lives or deaths good patriotic Americans should not give a shit about have, well, died.

That is, within the last few weeks a significant number of youngsters returned home to hell holes like Honduras, Guatemala, and El Salvador after they tried to escape to America for safety have been shot dead.


Photo: Mark Boster/LA Times

Nice work, o protectors of our borders. It’s times like these when I wish I believed in an afterlife so I could fantasize the not-my-problem crowd burning in hell.

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