More Irksome Things

Image from Une Semaine de Bonte by Max Ernst.

Have you ever awakened and found a Fish-Birdman in the room? Me neither. It’s how I felt this morning after nearly two weeks of insomnia. I would complain about my sleep pattern. but I don’t seem to have one anymore. The only certainty in sleep is that I’ll wake up way too early.

Surrealism is the art of dreams. I’ve long felt a deep connection to the bizarre images from Max Ernst’s collage novel, Une Semaine de Bonte. In my insomniac state, I can’t remember my dreams, which irks the hell out of me. That was a roundabout way of bringing back a new recurring feature: Irksome Things.

I’m skipping the bullet points this time. They make it hard to embed videos and such and I’m all about the embedding. Let’s get to irk.

I’m irked that it took a 49-year-old senator having a stroke to make many understand the fragility of the Fifty-Fifty senate. Get well soon, Senator Lujan.

I’m irked by the hypocritical Republican freak out on Biden’s SCOTUS nomination. Reagan promised to nominate a woman, kept his campaign promise, and it was his best nomination by far. Yo, wingnuts, Barry Goldwater recommended O’Connor. We all know why the GOP is freaking out but Cassandra summed it up best yesterday,

I’m irked that the MSM is reporting Lindsey Graham’s possible aye vote on the Biden nomination with a straight face. I expect him to crawfish any time now.

I’m irked that someone else beat me to the Twitter punch about Neely’s latest asinine comment:

I’m irked that pillows and blankets have been defamed by Mike Lindell and Donald Trump, respectively. Blanket pardons? What have they done wrong? Does Linus know about this? Has his evil big sister stolen his blanket again?

in a word: Unpardonable.

I’m irked that Parish the Audubon Zoo Nutria’s weather prediction doesn’t get the pub that a damn groundhog gets. Repeat after me: Punxsutawney Phil is a putz.

I’m waiting for the sequel to Groundhog Day:

I’m irked that I didn’t realize until now that this post is my version of Max Ernst’s collage novels. It’s all in the embedding. I guess I’m glad I got out of embed…

My irk is done.

The last word goes to Pete Townshend; just change working to irking and you’ll know why.