Facebook Still Trying to Tempt Me with Memories


They sent me this one today. It’s a good one. One of my favorite pictures of Buster. No need to take the link. The pic’s already here.

But this is a good time to talk about what happens when you do take a Facebook link from here. Facebook doesn’t want you to come back here. So the back button goes back to where you were in FB. But InstaPunk Returns should still be shown on the top menu bar of your device. You’ll get used to how it works. Easy as pi.

Back with the usual powerful, hard-hitting stuff later.

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Our Idiot Judiciary

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Yeah, I did that. Am I fair? I’m principally a thinker and writer, which often but not always go together. As a thinker I use writing as a tool for thinking, because writing forces you to deal with matters of order, precision, logic, and moral context in testing your thinking. If you can’t write a thought down and agree with what you’ve written, you haven’t thought it through. I tend to be, try to be, fair in that process. But being a writer also offers the opportunity to go the next step beyond documentation. Because much of what I think is not popular, generally accepted in its positions, or understood by undisciplined minds, I also tend to create a kind of commentary called satire. Satire is inherently UN fair, in that it is meant to provoke readers to do their own thinking when they are angered or offended by a satirical provocation. For those who are inclined to agree with the unfairness, there is the collateral benefit of laughter. Funny requires no justification. It  just is...
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     This post was last updated at 12:30 PM, Wednesday, November 19.  Latest entries are “Profile in Courage on the Epstein Fiasco,” “Sick of Fascist-Commie Circular Firing Squad,” and “Our Idiot Judiciary.” The Instapunk Times is hot off the presses! [ NOV 19 STRIKE ISSUE! ] Undernet Black was updated November 19. This will be a pinned post in perpetuity, but it will be updated continuously, just like all of our lives. The title — “My World and Welcome to It” — is stolen happily from James Thurber, who is known as a humorist, unabashedly untrained cartoonist, and dog lover. He was also subject to melancholy, a drinker of note, and something of an outsider (in his own damaged eyes at least) as an Ohioan, born and educated, who became a fixture in the glamorous Algonquin Roundtable of Manhattan writers and playwrights. I can relate to all of that but the fame and the lifelong journey to blindness. I believe he was likely the best writer of the gang that gathered in th...
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