Congressman Donald Payne Jr. died in April and won the New Jersey Democrat primary this week (https://www.thegatewaypundit.com/2024/06/new-jersey-democrats-elect-dead-congressman-donald-payne/).
He received 99,9 percent of the vote in the 10th District.
Only one question: Just how bad was his opponent? If he was running unopposed, the nooze story didn’t mention it.
Well, lots of dead people vote for Democrats. It was only a matter of time before Dems started voting for them.
Yesterday was another stinker, and we are hoping for a day of calm and normalcy today. Like in the picture.
Robbie is sleeping off her stress, and sleep is what she needs. She’s also resumed eating. Thank you, Lord Jesus.
I was resolved not to go anywhere today, but that was before I remembered that I have to pick up my laundry. Somewhere along the line, if possible, I’ll write a Newswithviews column. About what, I dunno.
Any suggestions?
This glorious melody finds its way into so many hymns. Here we have it with Love Divine, All Loves Excelling, sung by the Westminster Choir with Garrett Martin on the organ.
Why do so many cats sniff human feet? And then they make The Face. They have no choice but to taste what they smell. That’s why The Face.
Holy moly, I’m tired! I DO NOT WANT TO GO ANYWHERE TOMORROW.
Physical therapy this morning, then more of Ozias, Prince Enthroned: finished a chapter. I was about to get some more work started when I had to take Robbie for an emergency visit to the vet. That’s the big fancy office that never keeps you less than two hours. I was there all afternoon.
She seems much better, now that she’s home again. Eating and drinking, no more distress calls. She was in bad shape this morning and it just kept getting worse.
The doctor said it was mostly due to stress.
Anyhow, here we are, almost six o’clock and waiting for our supper.
We’ll try to take it slow tomorrow.
Requested by Erlene–Draw Me Nearer, one of six or seven thousand hymns written by Fanny Crosby. For me it’s a Sunday school favorite: brings me back a long, long way.
Prayers for all: we all need ’em.
Five years ago, this was a fad in the business world: they wanted to ban the handshake.
I wonder how it turned out. I shook hands with someone the other day, but he wasn’t a Businessman.
For centuries, a handshake was synonymous with good faith. Maybe they were afraid to come out and say “Down with good faith.”
The excuse was, “We avoid sexual harassment lawsuits by banning all physical contact at the workplace!” ‘Cause it all leads to sex, dontcha know.
I don’t know why I selected this for today’s hymn. Robbie has taken a turn for the worse. It’s as if I can’t help thinking, “If we can only make it to Christmas–!”
Well, here it is: On This Day, Earth Shall Ring, sung by the Kings College Choir, Cambridge.
You don’t often see a rabbit chasing a cat. Domestication is weird that way. Question: What would the bunny have done to the cat, if he’d caught him? What did the cat think that made him scurry up the wall?
My opinion is the same as his.
[Thanks to Susan for the nooze tip]
I never got into James Bond. The whole thing seemed quite silly. But last year was the 70th anniversary of the first Bond adventure, Casino Royale; and although author Ian Fleming is no longer with us, his character, James Bond, just keeps going.
Well, now they’ve got a new Bond author, Charlie Higson–and a new set of critical readers who don’t like the new James Bond… described by Higson as “metrosexual” (https://www.theguardian.com/books/article/2024/jun/01/bond-woke-charlie-higson-row-metrosexual-007#:~:text=They%20seemed%20to%20be%20scornful,t%20play%20so%20well%20nowadays.). Anybody got a barf bag handy?
What is “metrosexual”? Higson defines it as “modern, equal, and relaxed” (cue in raspberry). Oxford Language defines it as pertaining to men who live in urban areas and are deeply interested in shopping, etc.–men who act like women or homosexuals. Someone like Clifton Webb’s character in Laura. I think the term “sissy” may justly be applied.
Oh–and what about villains? Can’t have a Bond adventure without villains. But of course the villains can’t be commies or Russians or Chicoms anymore. Higson’s villains, in his own words, are “far right, populist libertarians.” People like us. Gotta sweep us out of the way and create a Far Left Ninny pansexual utopia.
Culture rot has deep roots, doesn’t it?