Category: Random Thoughts

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Rev. Joe’s Random Thought #1,799

yeah I know you did not ask!

In a post I used the phrase “in the Weinhaus-Rush household”, being a senior with a floppy neural network (do they make a Viagra for that?), I began to play around with the meanings of our two last names.

All my life people have made puns or jokes on my last name.  In the start of the Cold War era in the fifties it was, “Hey David, are you a Rush-AN?” During the hippie sixties it was, “Man, what a rush”, referring, of course, to the effects of drugs, generally said as someone passed me in the hallways at school.  My least favorite has been, “Hey, RUSH Limbaugh.” I quickly dissuaded folks from the use of that obnoxious appellation in regards to me.  And there is always the omnipresent jest, “Hey what’s your rush, Rush.” For the purpose of this randomness we are going with sixties version.

Indubitably, you are aware that Weinhaus is German for wine house as in the anglicized name, Amy Winehouse.

So our household is the Wine House Rush or perhaps the Rush Wine House.  Apparently, we are running some sort hippie opium den tavern/pub/wine bar.  Man, what a rush! Y’all come on down here, hear, aprisa, before the Ruskies  and MAGAs take over.

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Rev. Joe’s Random Thought #9,959

yeah I know you did not ask!

I’m down in Chesterfield Valley, the local generica full of strip malls and chain stores,  waiting at a stop light behind a smallish SUV with multiple bumper stickers.  The one that caught my eye was “Abolish ICE“.

I thought, “Well we are already doing a pretty good job of that, the way we are ignoring the impending climate change disaster.” Then I noticed their “Combat Climate Change” bumper sticker, and went, “naayy.”

I then wondered about hockey, thinking that could be a dangerous sticker in this area full of fanatical St. Louis Blues hockey fans.

Indubitably, they were referring to the federal agency, U.S. Immigration  and Customs Enforcement, commonly known as ICE.  Without question, ICE is overzealous far too much of the time, but I don’t think I would want to abolish the agency completely.

The way traffic was I never did see the person driving, but obviously an activist individual.

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Rev. Joe’s Random Thought #6,041

yeah I know you did not ask!

I was messing around on a website and the website wanted me to elected a personal pronoun to continue.

Apparently, “No f**** way!”, is not an acceptable response.

I see myself as more than a little liberal. There is no need to be jamming folks up in boxes of acceptability. If it makes you happy, be happy.  I might not want to hang with you, but hey you might not want to hang with me.  We’ll just move on and do our own thing. Life and the two of us will be just fine.

However, this whole woke culture, this whole overly political correct police, is about to turn me into a fanatical reactionary, the bunch of namby pambies.

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Rev. Joe’s Random Thought #8,063

yeah I know you did not ask!

Florida famously is the warm, tacky place old folks retire to to await their pie in the sky.  They are down there in gator-land, realizing that their golden years are more fool’s gold than Inca ingots.  Additionally, their kids seldom come to visit, and when they do it is a fly-by drop in on the way to Disney World.

Wanting to get even for these indignities, they have started sending to the rest of country the most gawd awful politicians imaginable: Ron DeSantis, Rick Scott, Marc Rubio, Matt Gaetz, ad nauseam… literally

Go visit the old folks in Florida.  Maybe next  time they go to the polls they will not be quite so vengeful.

Just saying.

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Rev. Joe’s Random Thought #2,638

yeah I know you did not ask!

Anyone who has ever lived with a dog for any period of time will come to know that they are creatures of habit, creatures of routine.  Señora feeds Princess Lily in the morning, time dependent on when Señora makes the commitment that this really is a new day and rolls out of the warm, embracing bed. But as soon as she does, The Wee Dog is following her around. Señora is very regular on the next feeding  of our proxy child at 1700 hours.

Somehow this punctual pooch protegee knows the time, and about five or so minutes before the appointed hour her hirsute self is parked by her food bowl, her eyes tracking Señora.

I am going to find the miniature Rolex watch that must be buried under the fur on her little doggie wrist, and sell it.  Maybe then I can recuperate, in part, all the money spent on food, all the money spent on treats, all money spent on toys, all the money spent on vet bills, that Señora has lavished upon our copacetic canine companion… or not.

And so it goes in our little ménage à chienne.