My Year In Review.

Why I screamed and upset the dog.

“We’ll never get rid of crazy people.” Michael Moore

I wish I could say this past year taught me something, but it was like watching someone steal your hubcaps while you’re still half asleep. Nothing registers until you’ve had your coffee. Then it hardly matters.

Last night, I watched GOP members turn on each other, nominating some very strange alternatives to Senate Speaker of the House, including Jim Jordan. Nobody in their right mind would nominate him. Then again, it doesn’t seem like Republicans care if they’re in their right minds or not.

They enjoy embarrassing themselves, and probably will again before a Senate speaker, Kevin McCarthy deals with all the concessions he made to his GOP Far Right members, especially the one where Kevin himself can be voted out if he doesn’t do their bidding. You have to wonder how long that can last.

Trump hasn’t been charged, but the release of his tax returns confirms what we knew all along. He’s a mindless dweeb.

It’s over for the Republican Party, just as it should be for former president Donald Trump. The January 6th Select Committee has wrapped up their investigations, revealing more disturbing testimony than most Americans can handle. Trump hasn’t been charged, but the release of his tax returns confirms what we knew all along. He’s a mindless dweeb.

The snow storms in Buffalo just prior to Christmas killed 40 people. Many died in their cars from exposure. Some had decided they wanted to see “their babies,” even though their babies are in their forties.

Others went out for cigarettes.

Each time a death occurs, I’m reminded of Hurricane Katrina tearing through New Orleans, turning the city into a sludge pond. As the levees broke, one man was found sitting at his regular bar. Even the owner fled to higher ground. Routine is routine. Some people don’t see the point in changing.

Certainly they didn’t as airports filled with people making their way home for Christmas. Some spent 18 hours on the tarmacs, while their luggage ended up in Guadeloupe. Now they’re suing the airlines for not informing them that the century’s worst storm could affect travel plans.

Even if it’s just to say, “My husband and I spent our New Year’s sleeping on the floor at Kennedy.” They like being momentary celebrities.

People like to complain and suffer, usually in that order. As they told their tales of misery on the six o’clock news, they couldn’t help but smile. Warhol was right when he said everyone would have their fifteen minutes of fame. Even if it’s just to say, “My husband and I spent our New Years sleeping on the floor at Kennedy.” They like being momentary celebrities.

No wonder I spent New Year’s screaming at the television. I couldn’t wish anybody a Happy New Year, fearing they’d go out and do something even more ridiculous. How can they not when the politicians we see on television put the bar so low, a sloth on an olive branch could get elected.

Down in Brazil, Jair Bolsonaro still hasn’t conceded defeat to Luis Ignacio Lula da Silva. Bolsonaro continues to question the results, even pleading with the army to intercede. I’m happy for Lula. The man was serving nine and half years for money laundering and corruption. The judge, Sergio Moro, later became Minister of Justice and Public Security in Bolsonaro’s government. I always love it when criminals outdo each other.

You could say this is Putin’s theory of life itself. If you ain’t necessary, bye, bye.

I screamed at Putin simply because he’s Putin. Nobody needs a reason to hate him anymore. He’s disgraced himself. He’s a murderer responsible for sending 22 oligarchs flying out of windows. You could say this is Putin’s theory of life itself. If you ain’t necessary, bye, bye.

At least Zelenskyy is living up to expectations. The only thing I love more than criminals outdoing each other, is a comedian holding his own against a low-rent autocrat like Putin.

When Ukrainians say they’re “fighting for the world,” it isn’t rhetoric. I’ve been reading Ann Applebaum’s “Red Famine.” All Baltic states could be stomped like bad fruit if Putin has any success in Ukraine.

At the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve, I was asleep. I’m sure someone would have woken me up at midnight, but my screaming earlier upset the animals in the house and most of the neighbourhood.

Someone left two cases of beer in our carport last night, figuring I needed beer more than they did. Another neighbour called the police. In our town, they normally take you outside and apply some form of reason. But they know me as a news junkie. After the eleven o’clock report, it’s easier calming a dope fiend.

They let me ramble for awhile, challenging them to explain why Canada Unity wants to start another truck convoy, possibly in Winnipeg where people are more tolerant of truckers protesting in hot tubs.

The neighbours will eventually drink it, then drive off in their pickups, running lights, and setting off fireworks next to the Veteran’s Centre.

It was canceled, of course, mostly because Canada Unity talks gibberish. The cops don’t even want to know my opinion on this. They talked to my wife and told her to keep me out of the park. They’d also like us to move all the beer cases left in the carport. The neighbours will eventually drink it, then drive off in their pickups, running lights, and setting off fireworks next to the Veteran’s Centre.

Eventually, they’ll find a few veterans, huddled between the buildings, wondering if it’s safer to go back to Afghanistan, Rwanda or East Timor.

Probably it is. The leading cause of Emergency Room visits in this area is lost fingers and toes from fireworks and hunting rifles. Try taking them away, and you’ve got a major problem on your hands. Without fireworks and hunting rifles, all that’s left is driving your pickup off the local pier.

Anyway, I’ve said enough. Let’s hope this year finds some sanity. I’ll do my part by taking the beer back to the Beer Store.

Then I’ll drag the dog out from under the bed.

He’s still scared shitless from the fireworks last night.

My screaming didn’t help, either.

Happy New Year.

Robert Cormack is a satirist, blogger and author of “You Can Lead A Horse to Water (But You Can’t Make It Scuba Dive).” You can join him at: robertcormack.net