Just Another Irksome Monday

We begin with the two things I’m NOT irked about: the Saints stunning come from behind win over the Falcons and Tommy T’s return to First Draft. If you ever need help with a cattle drive, you know who to ask. Beats the hell outta dealing with the MAGA Cowboy.

Cue the theme song from Rawhide:

Let’s move on to some irksome items in the news.

I’m irked that the MSM’s crew of the savvy continues to treat the Kaiser of Chaos like an ordinary politician. Check out this irksome clip involving CNN’s Jake Tapper:

Apparently, someone at the palace watches CNN and they invited the Bidens but not a full US delegation to QE2’s funeral. The story was broken by, all of people, Jake Tapper.

I’m irked that Tapper, who should know better, sucked up to CNN’s new bosses who have been sucking up to the GOP. The whole thing sucks the big one.

Does this qualify as tap dancing? Only The Shadows know:

I’m irked by some of the reactions to the Queen’s death. Some folks have gone overboard in extolling the virtues of the British Empire. Who do they think they are, Rudyard Fucking Kipling?

That was the late, great Christopher Fucking Plummer as Rudyard Fucking Kipling.

I’m mildly irked by those from the former colonies who have gone overboard in the other direction. Since I’m a small r republican, I’m more likely to forgive them. Let’s consult with Billy Bragg.

I wonder if the Aussies will make another run at having a non-Windsor head of state. How about former MP and environment minister Peter Garrett for president:

I’m irked that King Charles III did not use one of his other names and become King Arthur. Has he forgotten the irksome fate of King Charles I?

I’m irked that I just posted a scene from an historically inaccurate movie such as 1970’s Cromwell. I guess I lost my head.

By way of apology for that groaner, a great song from Quadrophenia:

I’m irked that every time I watch a sporting event on the tube, some announcer gets all irksome. Yesterday, it was former Saints player Jonathan Vilma on Fox Sports with his incessant references to “big boy football.” What the hell does that mean? They all look big to me, especially their necks.

Cue Elvis neck song:

I’m irked at being irked by someone who was depicted on a Spank float after the whole Bountygate mishigas:

I’ll just have to put on my big boy pants and forgive him. Let’s consult with Chuck Berry this time:

Finally, I’m irked that new kitty Perry Mason is outside my door howling his damn fool head off hoping to con me into a lagniappe feeding. He’s the talkingest cat I’ve ever had. Could it be the name? The other day I had this imaginary exchange with him:

Me: Are you going to be a good kitty or yourself?

PM: Objection, asked and answered.

It’s just another irksome Monday at Adrastos World HQ.

The last word goes to The Bangles.

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