Taking Note of a Few Things: Victory!

War is Hell. And when the enemy is disguised as toenails, it can creep up on you and take away all you cherish most while you blindly go about your life.

No one ever said that war is pretty, and I am certain no one would say the three toenails I fought an epic battle with were either, the worst being the nail on my right big toe. By the time I had enough of it, I realized my lackadaisical ways were going to have to change if I was to ever rid myself of what could only be described as a monster.

Its thickened and gnarled appearance made children run from the pool area. Adults told me I was not welcomed poolside unless I wore socks. And then there was my apartment manager, threatening to boot me from my home unless I took matters into my own hands, or in this case, feet.

It’s important to utilize all the weapons at your disposal if you are going to war. It is vital to make the enemy submit to you lest you want to be involved in a long and drawn-out war. No one ever wins in such a situation, so once I made the decision to rid myself of an ugly enemy invader, I ignored the Geneva Convention and relied on chemicals.

Having seen what dropping acid has done for my editor, Tim Forkes, I decided I would also drop my share. However, instead of ingesting it, I brushed it on in large quantities, day after day, until that damn nail was in no condition to defend itself.

Out came the grave digger, a tool specifically designed to dig under the nail bed and to remove dried blood, fungus, and skin. Now, with a nice size gap between my nail and skin, I hit it with Big Bertha, my industrial sized nail clipper. Bertha tore into that nail like she was a hungry pit bull. When she was finished with the first round, half of the enemy was destroyed.

There would be no mourning period for the horrific loss of life. Instead, as soon as Bertha finished her first helping, out came more acid and this time, along with attacking the remaining large nail, I also went after the second nail on both feet. My war was now on two fronts and would require an expanded effort, but dammit, sometimes a man has to do what he has to do, and this was one of those times.

On the morning of August 23rd, while the nation of India celebrated their successful landing of a spacecraft on the moon, I waged Operation Toe Jam. The initial attack resulted in the fast fall of the nail on the second toe of my right foot. With the big toe next to it expecting an assault, I suddenly began focusing on the second toe on my left foot. To say it was caught off guard is an understatement. Big Bertha grabbed hold of the nail and with a quick yank, she removed it in its entirety.

Now surrounded, my nail on my right big toe prepared for a battle to the death. The grave digger did its job and created just enough of a break in the defenses to allow Big Bertha to go to work.  Blood was everywhere you looked on the battlefield.  The level of fighting was unlike anything seen before. However, when Betha grabbed hold of the largest remaining portion of the enemy, there was the sense the war would soon be over.

In her vise-like grip Bertha yanked, tugged, pulled, and twisted on the enemy before finally seeing it removed from under the layer of skin she was holding onto for dear life. The enemy was no more. As its blood-soaked corpse lay on a sheet of toilet paper, one could only marvel over the fallen warrior. When you live by the toenail clippers, you die by them, and the enemy died a glorious death.

And then there were seven. I feel pretty confident my remaining seven toenails will comply with my rule. With any luck, in time, my three beaten nails may one day enjoy the same way of life my other seven enjoy. But for now, they are but a wasteland; one true reminder that while video games may glorify war, in reality, it is not for the faint of heart.

I didn’t watch one second of the first GOP debate. Is there any point to holding them when cumulatively they still get blown out of the water by Agent Orange? If these debates show anything, it is that the GOP is light years behind Democrats in offering real leadership and not just people trying to balance a tightrope.

Analyzing debates and selecting winners has never been so pointless as it was at last night’s debate. These are people who do not connect with the Trump wing in any manner and fail miserably to light a fire of hope under the non-Trump members of the GOP. Without having watched it, I can still say none of the eight debaters offered anything new or bold for this nation because if they had, it would have appeared in the headlines.

I also did not tune in to see Agent Orange and his sit down with Mother Tucker Carlson, another pointless endeavor. The only folks who would make a point of watching it are already in his camp and just trying to break in their brown boots for when they goose step to victory and create a new nation. For now, they get to watch the other brown boots sentenced to prison for the last time they marched.

Here’s a shocker to the few people who follow Russian news. Yevgeny Prigozhin, the head of the mercenary Wagner Group, and the man who threatened to attack Moscow a few months back, is presumed to be among the dead in a mysterious plane explosion after taking off from Moscow. One can only assume Russian leader Vladimir Putin’s fingerprints are all over this. Instead of poisoning him, which seems to be Vlad’s favorite method of killing an opponent, he opted for the sure thing by blowing up an entire plane.

I am pretty sure Donald Trump wishes he could operate in the same manner as his bro-crush Vlad operates. If only he could find a way to be above the law.

Pest Gnome recently researched rats and American cities and came back with a ranking of the cities with the highest infestation rates. To no one’s surprise, New York City was number one by a long shot. However, in second place was Los Angeles. It seems there is more than just a problem with homeless people in the city. Of course, my solution is to round up rodents, cook them up and feed them to the homeless in hotdog buns. Either the rat problem goes away, or the homeless problem ends.

In the same survey, which was conducted by a PhD candidate and not some schmuck like me assigned to by his editor, San Bernardino came in third place for the dirtiest city in the nation. That’s quite an accomplishment when you consider all the competition it faces in just the inland empire. Then it had to take down Los Angeles, San Francisco, and other liberal bastions in the state. San Bernardino, I tip my trash can to you for a job well done.

Tropical Storm Hilary may have caused a lot of problems to the people of Southern California, but once again, I was not one of them. Just like with the recent heat waves, another weather disaster managed not to be much for me. Not even an earthquake during the middle of some rain was a problem. I know, sooner or later, the odds will turn against me, but for now, I will enjoy avoiding our summer of weather extremes.

If there is ever a day in which Trump is on trial, and if I was prosecuting him, I would show his mug shot and then ask him to stand and be measured and weighed. He is clearly incapable of providing one bit of truthful information. He sees himself as a real-life Ken or GI Joe when in fact, he probably has not looked down and seen his pecker in decades. I bet I know a pair of gloves that fit him perfectly.

Plus, Rudy G managed to take a mugshot photo without his hair dye running down the side of his face.

Poor Shohei Ohtani. For the second time in his career, he has blown out the elbow on his pitching arm and is likely to need another Tommy John surgery to repair it. This means he will be unavailable to pitch next year, and it may call into question whether he will be able to continue being both a pitcher and an outfielder. It will also hurt him in the wallet since he was set to become a free agent at the end of this season and command the first $500 million dollar contract in American sports. Now it looks like he may have to settle for a mere $400 million dollar deal.

Speaking of lost wages, Walmart has begun ending the practice of self-checkout stations at some of their stores due to an increase in stolen merchandise. Now, instead of waiting in lines and watching people steal from the store while us honest guys pay more, we get to go back to waiting in those long lines that had us demanding better service. I find the best way to get service at any self-checkout station is to purchase alcohol. As soon as you try, an alarm goes off and someone comes by to assist you while everyone else curses under their breath.

Am I the only person who avoids Target stores all because I can’t stand the way they smell? Whatever it is they do with their air filtration system, it makes me think I am inhaling mold. You might say Target missed the mark in that area.

I have had a few days to ponder the meaning behind Trump’s mugshot and fake height and weight numbers he submitted. It got me thinking about how I might be able to capitalize off of a similar stunt. I have decided to email my contact information to NBA teams along with my height and weight which I self-checked at 7’2’’ and 230 pounds. I am also 26 years old and have a 48 inch vertical leap. Who said white men can’t jump?

Now that Hilary has come and gone, we can get back to yet another heatwave. Well, at least those of you foolish to live 15 or more miles inland from the coast. I’ll be enjoying more of that perfect coastal weather with a light onshore breeze. I will also enjoy knowing beaches remain nearly empty during the work week while kids are in school, and mom and dad are slaving away. If it seems like I am rubbing it in, it is because I am, along with sunscreen. Until next time, enjoy a little heatwave.

I bet you expected this.

Or maybe this.