If there’s such a thing as a grief hangover, I have one. The Saints tragi-comic loss to the Carolina Fucking Panthers didn’t help matters. Ugh. I can still smell that game. Double ugh.

I vowed not to post more about the recent death in our extended family,  but if you’re interested in Homan’s memorial service click here.

The post title may sound generic, but I woke up with a Fleetwood Mac earworm, so let’s post it and move on:

Let’s get irked or is that do the irk? The irk sounds like a spazzy dance, doesn’t it? Can we still say spaz? I hope so. It’s a good word as it sounds like what it is. I dig onomatopoeia.

Speaking of songs about spazzy dances:

If you’re irked or offended, blame Ray Davies, not me.

I’m irked because I woke up too early:

What am I doing up this early? New cat Perry Mason burrowed under me in bed then licked my face. I am not making this up,

— Shecky (@Adrastosno) September 26, 2022

I took the weekend off from political news but found much to be irked about this morning.

I’m irked because Italy has elected a far right government, which will be led by Italy’s first woman PM, Giorgia Meloni. Oddly enough, her neo-Fascist party is called Brothers of Italy. Brothers with a woman leader? Italian politics has never made much sense, so why the hell not?

I’m considering calling Meloni, Blondie Mussolini. The coalition will have a Dagwood: Silvio Berlusconi’s party Forza Italia is part of it. Fascism and bunga-bunga parties are back in fashion. Ugh, just ugh.

One could even say that Italy has swung to the right:

Even worse, the tide is not only high, it comes from the far right:

FYI, I’m not irked by Blondie or Debbie Harry.

The irksome featured image is The Dynamism of a Car by the Italian Futurist artist Luigi Russolo who was a supporter of Bald Mussolini who drove Italy into Marinetti’s proverbial “maternal ditch.”

I’m irked that Mehmet Oz’s campaign continues to focus on trivia. The Bad Doctor’s latest snake oil is an attack on John Fetterman for buying a house for one dollar. The title of a piece at New York Magazine. com says it all: Mehmet Oz: Buying $1 House Is Shameful (Unless My Family Does It.)

Hypocrisy is always irksome.

I’m irked by all the social media freak outs every time there’s a hurricane. Even if a storm is headed your way, one should follow Mr. Spock’s sage advice:

I’m sure Spock would do what I do and pay careful attention to the Euro Model. It’s usually right.

I’m irked by leftists who think that Hurricane Ian’s current path is payback for Florida having D Duce Wannabe as Governor. Hurricanes are strictly apolitical, just ask Carlene Carter:

I’m irked by people who get all their news from social media. Talk about the blind leading the blind:

Locally, I’m irked by an attempt by the Gret Stet of Louisiana to move some teenage inmates to Angola State Penitentiary. A federal judge upheld the move but said:

“While locking children in cells at night at Angola is untenable, the threat of harm these youngsters present to themselves, and others, is intolerable. The untenable must yield to the intolerable.”

Adding to the irksome nature of this deplorable exercise is where they’ll be housed. They’ll have their own building, but it used to be death row. I am not making this up. Talk about bad ju ju, bad karma, bad everything.

It reminds me of an old movie with Bogie and the Dead End kids before they were slapstick comedians and he was a movie star:

I know what you’re thinking: everything reminds me of an old movie.

Finally, I’m irked that I missed out on all the jokes based on this Trump comment:  “You can declassify just by saying ‘it’s declassified.’ Even by thinking it.”

I have some deep thoughts on this subject:

• I think this post has gone on too long.
• I think it’s over.

The last word goes to The Band: