Money markets earned interest last year, more than expected, and the IRS not only penalized me but I have to prepay my taxes for next year. I’m a senior living on a fixed income, but God forbid if I earn a bit more to help pay for Biden’s failed economy because Biden is there with his phuckin’ hand out.
As if things weren’t bad enough, jackass Joe Biden illegally forgives student loans as if they are going to vanish forever, which they won’t, because people like me will have to somehow pay for these loans that belong to deadbeats.
And, let’s not forget the millions of illegal aliens coming here illegally. Who gets to pick up the tab for supporting them? The taxpayers – people like me who pay our damn taxes.
I’m sick of this crap! I worked for over 45 years so I could enjoy retirement. After 8 years of Obama hell, it’s 4 years of Biden hell.
The government gives me nothing! I don’t ask for a thing! But my government keeps finding ways to screw over people like me and I’m sick of it.
Stop the madness and put President Donald J. Trump back in the White House.
“I thought such awful thoughts that I cannot even say them out loud because they would make Jesus want to drink gin straight out of the cat dish.” ~Anne Lamott
Joe Biden began our country’s State of the Union address by talking about Ukraine. Who does that? What leader of another country starts off a speech about the country they lead by talking about a war in another country?
Later, Joe Biden went on to hold up a button with the name “Laken Riley” on it, and he referred to her as “Lincoln Riley.” Clearly, Joe Biden can’t read or he doesn’t care or both.
Joe Biden used the word “illegal” when referring to the illegal alien who murdered Laken Riley. What did the Democrats do? They were pissed off that Joe Biden used the word “illegal” when describing the illegal alien who killed Laken Riley.
Joe Biden has since backtracked and now he regrets using the word “illegal” because he wants to treat those who are here illegally with respect. However, I haven’t heard a peep out of Joe Biden for calling Laken Riley “Lincoln Riley.”
This country isn’t going to hell in a handbasket. We are there!
little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower
who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly
i will kiss your cool bark
and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,
only don’t be afraid
look the spangles
that sleep all the year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,
put up your little arms
and i’ll give them all to you to hold
every finger shall have its ring
and there won’t be a single place dark or unhappy
then when you’re quite dressed
you’ll stand in the window for everyone to see
and how they’ll stare!
oh but you’ll be very proud
and my little sister and i will take hands
and looking up at our beautiful tree
we’ll dance and sing
“Noel Noel”
Once upon a time, my dream trip was to visit New York City, stay at The Algonquin Hotel, attend a few Broadway shows, go to museums, enjoy the night life at a jazz club or two, do some shopping, and visit other sites that tourists like to see.
Sadly, those days are gone and it’s no longer safe to go to NYC.
So, I’ve resurrected a little story I wrote a few years back about a woman who takes her first trip to the Big Apple. ~CE
This was her first time for many things on that tenth day in May. It was her first trip to the Big Apple; her first Broadway play on the Great White Way; and her first Dirty martini, ever. Making the decision to turn off the lights, leave a key with her neighbor, and record a message on her answering machine that would tell callers she was off to fulfill her dreams meant taking a huge leap of faith.
She sat at the hotel bar rather than at a table. She might need someone to talk to and the barkeeper was perfect for the occasion.
Her dress was deep red. It was the kind of dress that fit her body; the kind of dress that stopped just below her knees; and the kind of dress that zipped up the back just as easily as it unzipped and fell to the floor. The neckline was perfect for her pearl necklace … a gift from someone she knew once upon a time.
As she crossed her legs, one could tell she was wearing seamed stockings – black – to match her peep toe evening heels. She wore her hair long and wavy simply because she liked it that way, and she rarely paid attention to those who said women of age should wear their hair much shorter. She was light-handed with her make-up, but one had to wonder how she ever found the perfect shade of red lipstick. She rather enjoyed creating her own style, and she embraced her sensuality.
Sitting at the bar, she chatted up the barkeeper about the hotel and its history … the famous writers who had met there once a week to discuss everything under the moon and the stars. She felt cheated, as if she had been born too late.
The barkeeper said he understood. Maybe he did or maybe he was agreeing with her in hopes of getting a better tip. He would find out later that she was very generous with her tips. She was not like some who would mentally figure out twenty percent of the bill and really leave fifteen. That was not her style, and she loved to reward good service.
A gentleman sat at the bar, three stools down from where she was sitting. He appeared to be old world or maybe he was from old money. It was difficult to tell, but not that it really mattered. He ordered a Scotch whisky neat, but then he changed his mind. Eyeing the martini glass, he said to the barkeeper:
“I will have what the lady is drinking, and perhaps she will join me for one more.”
She looked at the stranger sitting three stools down, lowered her eyes just a little, smiled softly at him, and in a voice he would find hard to forget, she accepted his kind offer.