Day 782
End of the century
The only Sonic Youth show I ever enjoyed was one in which they played nothing but Ramones songs. And while Thurston Moore soldiers on, while Fred Durst whacks off before mirrors, while funereal narcissists recycle marginal junk, while Rod Stewart remains stubbornly glued to the planet, Joey is gone forever, in search of the fourth chord.
Which brings me to the Poem of the Day:
Joey is dead.
Nothing else said.
Something rhymes with said.
Something rhymes with dead.
Second verse,
same as the first.
I finally got around to inspecting the building in my neighborhood demolished a couple of weeks ago by a Zircon missile1.
Israel is not Ukraine, and Iran is not Russia. Conflating the two bloody disasters and Team USA’s response to them is not a great idea2.
The avoidable 6-month interrruption in supplying Ukraine with guns and ammo from Team USA has meant thousands more dead Ukrainians and that we will be stuck in Phase 3 at least that much longer.
We floated the idea on Day 2 for Uncle Joe, Emmuanel and Olaf to organize a no-fly zone, but the response was that this step would put us in “direct confrontation” with Team Russia3.
Maybe we should recontemplate the proposal? Otherwise, we will be sitting ducks for most of the summer, or until the US Congress agrees to resume assistance.
Finally, street fighting with Humvees. The 57th? Wait for it: