Interview With Hillary, Part I
SM: Thank you for meeting with me, Madam Secretary.
HC: You're welcome, Sluggo. Don't ask me about my husband's infidelities, the 2016 election, Whitewater or Benghazi.
SM: Um, but…
HC: I'm kidding. I do that to everyone who interviews me these days. I love to see the look in their faces.
SM: That's pretty clever, Madam Secretary. You had me going. For starters, though, I'd like to ask you about the alleged missing emails that the president claims you deleted from your private server.
HC: Does anyone care about that anymore?
SM: I do. Anyway, on August 18, 2015 you were asked during a press conference about whether you wiped your personal email server clean before giving it to the FBI. You responded by saying, "What? Like with a cloth or something?" while making a wiping motion with your hand, as if you were wiping a table top or something.
HC: The election's over, Sluggo. Wow!
SM: I'm sorry, Madam Secretary, but that comment really stuck in my craw because all high-level State Department personnel are given regular briefings on cyber security. It's hard for me to believe your ignorance about what it means to wipe a hard drive clean.
HC: I'm no computer expert. Why should I know about that sort of thing?
SM: Because as secretary of state you were involved in numerous briefings about cyber security. I just said that.
HC: I don't know anything about computers. Can we talk about my husband's affairs instead?
SM: Seriously?
HC: Anything but the missing emails.
SM: I'm pretty sure the American people deserve to know the truth.
HC: The truth is that my husband had multiple affairs during our marriage, as well as while he was in the White House. Let's talk about that truth.
SM: None of that's new information, Madam Secretary.
HC: Fine. Then let's talk about the truth that Trump bragged about sexually assaulting women.
SM: Do you have new information about that?
HC: No. I just don't want to talk about my emails. Besides, all 33,000 missing emails were about cookie recipes and tips on diesel engine maintenance.
SM: Okay, then. How do you change the spark plugs in a diesel engine?
HC: Well, first you open the hood. In England they call the hood a bonnet. Did you know that? Isn't that fascinating? My grandmother had a bonnet she wore to church.
SM: Diesel engines don't have spark plugs.
HC: I was getting to that part.
SM: Yeah, well, let's get to the part where you claimed that "you never received nor sent any material that was marked classified" on your private email server while you were secretary of state. The fact is, according to the FBI investigation, you did indeed send and receive information marked classified. Some email chains even contained secret and top secret information.
HC: You heard what President Trump said about the FBI. He said it was badly broken and a tool of the Deep State.
SM: Well, to be fair, Madam Secretary, he claimed it was badly broken regarding the investigation into his campaign working with Russia to manipulate the 2016 presidential election, but he has actually said the FBI was doing a great job regarding its investigation into your alleged malfeasance.
HC: Well, he can't have it both ways, Sluggo. Besides, the FBI did a great job investigating his campaign cooperating with Russia to manipulate the 2016 elections, but they did a terrible job when it comes to the investigation into the emails on my personal server.
SM: Self-awareness is a rare commodity these days.
HC: What are you trying to say?
SM: Nevermind.
HC: Let's talk about my no good husband's affairs. My self is aware of those, I'll tell you.
SM: We'll get to that, but I have some more questions about your private email server while you were secretary of state.
HC: Here's a question for you, Sluggo. What do you think would happen if a woman was president and it was discovered she was having extramarital sexual relations in the Oval Office? Huh? How about that question? All these puritanical hypocrites in America would be up in arms about such disgraceful behavior by a woman. As a matter of fact, that's the only reason I wanted to be president. I was going to have sexual relations in the Oval Office with a man other than my husband just to see the hypocrites go berserk over it.
SM: Um. I, uh…
HC: Yeah. How about them apples, Sluggo?
SM: So, you….um...
HC: But you know what? Trump ended up proving my point for me when he won the election. America would have never elected a woman president if she was caught on tape bragging about sexual assault, or if she had paid a porn star $130,000 dollars to keep his mouth shut about having an affair with her. That, Sluggo, is the truth no one wants to talk about.
SM: So, you're saying the missing emails are hiding an affair you had with a male porn star, and that's why you lost the election?
HC: What?!! Are you deaf? Bernie said you were a little slow, but I had no idea.
SM: Sorry. There's just a lot goin on there. Kinda gets my head spinnin.
HC: How did you get on my schedule anyway? Who approved this interview?
SM: No hablo inglés.
HC: Bullcrap. You do too speak English.
SM: My bad. I kinda panicked a bit. You're very intimidating. I mean that in a good way. Can we just get back on track with the interview?
HC: Yeah, whatever. Like I got anything else to do.
To be continued….
It Ain't Coleslaw
The hillbilly part of my contorted DNA has been in the barbecue business in North Carolina since about 1945. Our particular barbecue isn't like anything you'd find in Kansas City, St. Louis, Memphis, or any other noteworthy barbecue locale. It's a vinegar-based, shredded pork barbecue made with pork shoulders, so there's no thick barbecue sauces involved. It's moist and tangy, as opposed to sloppy and sweet. But don't get me wrong, I love sloppy and sweet barbecue just as well.
Other than flavor and texture, our family's barbecue is unlike other barbecue due to one very important side dish - slaw. Slaw is also a vinegar-based delicacy, so no mayonnaise as is found in coleslaw. (You might recall that mayonnaise is for banana sandwiches.) In fact, similarities between the two stop dead with cabbage, as you can tell by the below image of me making a 10-quart batch recently. Yes, slaw is mixed with the hands, not utensils. I generally wash up before making a batch.
How much do I love slaw you might ask? That 10-quart batch didn't last a week in our house, so I mixed up another 10 quarts tonight.
Slaw. It does a body good.
Hey! Your Fish Crapped in My Yard
Some Spaniards have found creative ways to circumvent their government's stay-at-home orders during the pandemic. They're allowed to leave their homes to walk their pets, but not everyone owns a “walkable” pet. So, many Spaniards have been seen “walking" their fishbowls. One man was filmed walking a chicken, and yet another tried to get some fresh air by walking a toy dog. All of these intrepid pet perambulators were cited by local police for noncompliance of the government's pandemic measures.
I imagine each of those encounters with the police to be quite humorous. “Thank you for the citation, officer. I'll get back inside once my chicken craps.” Or maybe, “Hey! Back off, Barney Fife. I'll go back inside when my fish is done taking a leak.”
Viral Lunacy
The day after President Trump suggested injecting disinfectant to treat coronavirus over 100 people called the Maryland Emergency Management Agency to ask about disinfectant use for treating coronavirus.
How do these rounders manage to navigate life's daily challenges?
Let's see.
“Hey, Momma. Says on this package of Ding Dongs “Open Here.” I was plannin on waitin till I got to the couch to open em. Hows come I gotta open em here? That there's tyranny, Momma. Tyranny! Nobody can tell me where I gotta open my package of Ding Dongs. This is what happens when them communist pinko commies take over; they tell ya where ya gotta open your Ding Dongs. Well, I ain't havin it. I don't care what this package says. I'm fixin ta go in there and sit right down on that there couch and open my package of Ding Dongs THERE, not HERE! Cuz that's my right. Then I'm watchin that program bout how the earth is flat. Did you know the earth's flat, Momma? It's a FACT. Hey, Momma. Where does the sun go when the clouds come out? Sumpin's fishy bout that. I think it's a government plot orchestrated by the Deep State. I said orchestrated, Momma. I learnt that when I became a lawyer. Oh, don't fergit ta wake me up early tomorrow, Momma. I funna argue a case afore Judge Brown first thing down at the courthouse.”
Or, at least I imagine it to be something like that.
PS - “Funna” is actually a word used in some parts of the South, although I don't recall ever hearing it in the Carolinas. It basically means “going to” or “fixin to.”
Tommy Toes Anyone?
We just a finished a lunch of burgers and slaw. Specifically, I had two burgers piled so high with slaw the beef became a garnish. Add a little mustard, and hoowee! Meanwhile, my family backed off the slaw and enthusiasm components considerably.
The lunch got me to thinkin of another culinary curiosity from my formative years, and a funny little story about the clash of cultures.
My recall of this incident is a bit murky, but you'll get the idea.
One day, sometime after we'd moved from North Carolina to South Dakota, we were enjoying a traditional Sunday dinner out at the farm. I remember my grandparents' house seemed bursting with relatives I really didn't know yet. As such, the food was spead out buffet-style on the kitchen counter (I think). I couldn't find one of my favorite foods, so I began asking no one in particular where the tommy toes were, unaware that term was entirely unknown in our new hometown environs. After a bit, one of my uncles or cousins, I don't really know, turns to my mom and says, “What the hell is he asking for?” My mom then translated that a tommy toe was a cherry tomato, which if I recall were nowhere to be found on that day.
I've been told that a similar incident occurred at an outdoor picnic where a number of Kuipers were present. I don't recall that one.
So, to review, tommy toes are cherry tomatoes and it's virtually sacrilege in the South to have a picnic without them.
Closing Thought
I made homemade French toast for breakfast today, and was reminded of a little-known fact of life: The fork always falls into the French toast batter. Ya gotta do it to knew, as they say. “They,” of course, have awful grammar.
Stay safe, distanced, connected and well.
Sluggo