The Grand Old Party of resentment and grievance.
Someone’s having fun at ABC 7 in SF:
Perhaps feeling the stress of a global pandemic or America’s long legacy of racism, Gerald the turkey has recently taken to viciously attacking visitors to the rose garden.
DETROIT – A Michigan woman says she woke up to someone urinating on her while she was on a Delta flight home to Detroit from Las Vegas. That someone happened to be a well-known North Carolina pastor, according to a report from WJBK-TV, FOX 2 News in Detroit.
The pastor, who hasn’t been publicly identified, was issued a court appearance for misdemeanor assault and released, said Mara Schneider, a spokeswoman for the Detroit office of the FBI.
“Until he appears in front of a judge and therefore gets formally charged, we will not be releasing his name,” Schneider said.
Donald Trump is so fucking stupid. Here he is on Twitter, posting a tweet about a (satirical) news story saying that the founder of Twitter has shut down Twitter in order to help Biden.
Twitter Shuts Down Entire Network To Slow Spread Of Negative Biden News https://t.co/JPmjOrKPcr via @TheBabylonBee Wow, this has never been done in history. This includes his really bad interview last night. Why is Twitter doing this. Bringing more attention to Sleepy Joe & Big T
— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) October 16, 2020
I just found the itemized list of all the things the hospital billed for during my recent hernia surgery. The total cost, $34,000+ is eye-popping.
But the interesting part, to me, is the Pharmacy details – the list of all the medicines they gave me, apparently in chronological order, for a procedure and recovery that lasted about 4 hours.
First, a hit of Midazolam (a relaxing agent, like Valium) to chill me out. Then, the extremely powerful opioid that killed Prince among many others, Fentanyl. Then the extremely powerful drug that effectively shuts off consciousness, and which killed Michael Jackson, Propofol. Lidocaine, to numb something. Rocuronium, to keep me from moving. Dexamethasone, an anti-inflammatory steroid (which is in the news because Trump got some as part of his Trump Virus™ treatment). Some antibiotics. Bupivacaine, another numbing agent. Ketorlac, another anti-inflammatory. Ondansetron, to prevent nausea. Neostigmine, to reverse the Rocuronium. Then a bunch of Hydromorphone, a powerful opioid for pain, which kills thousands every year. And then a couple more hits of Fentanyl for the road. All that, and a bit more, for just $500.
I appreciate the difference between just gobbling all that stuff on the street vs having it administered by medical professionals as part of a carefully controlled procedure – and their time and expertise made up the bulk of that $34K. But no wonder my pulse was in the 40s for most of the next 36 hours!
Eddie Van Halen, a guitar virtuoso whose pyrotechnic riffs and solos expanded the vocabulary of hard rock, inspired legions of headbanging imitators and propelled his band Van Halen to four turbulent decades of stadium-rock stardom, died Oct. 6. He was 65.
His death was announced on Twitter by his son, Wolfgang, who did not say where Mr. Van Halen died. He was being treated for throat cancer, years after losing about one-third of his tongue to the disease, and had attributed his cancer diagnosis to a habit of holding a metal guitar pick in his mouth while performing.
He has always been one of my favorites. Everybody knows him as a ridiculously great soloist, but I’ve always loved his rhythm stuff just as much. And this is one of my favorite examples:
He just sounds so happy.
I saw them in 1988, during the Sammy Hagar years. Don’t remember much about it other than thinking “Who in their right mind would have the balls to play guitar on stage with Eddie Van Halen? And why bother? He can do it all by himself just fine.”
I turned fifty last week.
Yesterday I got carded buying wine.
I literally LOLed.