This news just makes me smile.

I used to have a Dan Gurney For President button. It was 1964. It was a joke. Dan Gurney never ran for president. Pat Paulson did run. It was a joke. Most people enjoyed it, because he was cool and funny, and it was a joke.

Donald Trump doesn’t hold a candle to Pat Paulson, or to Dan Gurney, although Trump is a joke. Jesse Ventura has a nice tan.

Maybe seeing all those BLUE bikes cruising past her stuck-in-traffic automobile (limo? cab?) makes her think of blue things.

The Blues, that music the dark-skinned people play that attracts the riffraff where she can see them from her window.

Blueberries, the food all those hippies eat that stain her dentures and those of all the people of polite society.

Smurfs, the cartoon characters that attract shrieking, giggling children that make her head hurt by just existing.

Blue States, those awful smudges on the Electoral Maps that remind her how just a little tiny bit of Blue can contaminate the entire damned country with their strange ideas and cause government to take over every facet of her private life like bedroom stuff and, oh, wait…

Yes, that is brownie heresy.

The pecans are fine, but not the marshmallow fluff — that’s for fudge.

Oh, hell. Now the Canadians are laughing at us, because they put out this joke website (like The Onion, only not as funny) and called it “Politico” and a bunch of people fell for it.

Now, just when we most needed Canada to be our friend, they are going to attack us. There aren’t enough brownies with walnuts in the world to combat this.

When my daughter was just out of high school (class of ’90) a friend set her up with a blind date. The friend knew this guy who was just so nice and thought said daughter should meet him.

She arranged to go to a matinee movie on a Saturday afternoon. Then they headed to the ice cream parlor. Pretty perfect way to meet someone you don’t know at all, right?

She was home by about 4 p.m., looking distressed. Thinking I needed to go track down the bastard and kill him for what he’d done to my kid, I tried to stay calm as I asked what was wrong.

She said, “He’s Mormon.” I said, well, that’s not the worse thing in the world, it was just a movie and ice cream, blah blah blah and she said, “I didn’t even get to eat my ice cream. He made me sick. He started talking about being done serving his whatchamacallit, you know, that thing Mormon guys go on, and he has some pretty firm ideas about how many children I’m supposed to have for him.”

Mitt would have loved that boy.

Yes, thank you.

What does it say about us that Tbogg gives and gives and gives and all we do is whine about the missing captions? It says that Tbogg is not giving enough, that’s what. I miss those snarky little tidbits with all my heart, too.

I used to have a gardening shirt with the Dorothy Parker quip, “You can lead a horticulture, but you can’t make her think.” From the days of the Algonquin Round Table when someone would say the word of the day and each of them would use it in a sentence.

Mrs. Parker is regarded by many (myself included) as a pretty good smartass. So you don’t need to apologize. Brilliant minds and all that.

First, I’m not going to pretend I already knew this stuff, but Google is a wonderful thing.

But, hey, I could tell right away that Lesbian Gym was something special because at my gym they don’t allow anyone to wear high heels while working with free weights. Also too — you can’t tell who the virgins are by their saddle shoes any more.

I hope your birthday was a good one, Mrs. Tbogg. And add my name to the list of weird little internet friends who appreciate your sharing your family with us. Your dogs have helped many, many people smile through some trying times, and your snarky husband is, well, you know, pretty okay hisownself. Don’t think we don’t understand that you’re one of the main reasons Mr. Tbogg holds together at all.

I don’t want Mommy and Daddy to start looking at me with hatred because it’s all my fault that Daddy is so unhappy because he stayed here just for me. I’m sure all your other little internet friends will feel the same. Like everyone else has said, do what’s good for you, and whatever morsels you give us will be accepted with gratitude.

That picture of the lovely and talented one is stunning.

Now, go spend more time with the missus and the bassetts and just check in with the rest of us as it suits you.

Fenway’s treat looks like a thoroughly masticated rawhide chew. Good for a day’s worth of chomping, but I had a dog who tried to swallow one whole once he got it all soggy and limp, and that was a fun day at the doggie doctor.

Leslie (@18) why do you hate Tbogg? He’s not busy enough already?

Dear Miss Lopez: STFU. You are ignorant.

Friday night and Saturday Mr. X and I spent with the grandson, the most fun thing in the world. Sunday we went on a date, visiting an artisan books event and a nearby museum and eating apple pie. Today I slept late (we’re retired) while Mr. X took his car for an oil change. He came home and we talked about news items and then laughed some and now we’re doing other stuff.

At the end of February we will have been married 34 years. This is what you don’t know about. Marriage happens, and long marriages happen when the people like and respect each other and they don’t listen to people like you who have some 5-year-old’s vision of happily ever after. What Dr. Dick @32 said is all true, you might want to check on that.

The postal carrier today came and went without bringing our notice that we have to split up because gay people who love each other as we do are participating in married life. If you can’t tell me when to expect that official notice, then go back to bed and weep into your pillow alone. The rest of us are laughing.

See Mockingbird, To Kill a, for the reference to bustin’ up one.

As one of six kids raised by a bi-polar (untreated) single mother, I am all too familiar with what kids do when one of them is deemed “too bossy” by the others.

Back in the ’50s, we just punched and wrestled and, once, my hot-headed ten-year-old brother tapped me with a kitchen knife on the outer wrist for telling him I was in charge. It drew a few drops of blood. I shrieked and threatened to tell Mom he stabbed me.

Of course I didn’t (Mom was too unstable), but just think of what would have happened if said brother had a “scary-looking-gun” available to threaten his sister. Mom would have come home from work to find all the kids but one dead, and the house in a mess.

This idiot, despite having six children, apparently has no idea what children do. I’m very sorry that she has no concept of how to protect her own kids, much less any neighbor kids who are unlucky enough to venture in.

I don’t watch the show for all the reasons most people don’t watch it. But now and then I’ll view one of these videos when Joe does something that causes others to post them. So I viewed it.

It’s obvious to me that Joe’s finger snaps were meant to signal to Mika, “Careful, there, Bitch — remember why you’ve got this job. Me. I’m the one who lets you work here. And what I say goes. If you can’t remember that, then things can change…”

Her initial reaction was that of any healthy female who meets with that demeaning behavior. Her subsequent apology was that of a woman acknowledging that Joe was right about his power over her employment.

Somebody should slap Halperin for the whole thing.

Real classy, Bastards.

Happy New Year to TBogg and all the family and all his little internet friends. Without Romney bumbling around the country, this year will be much better.

Hey, I recognize that look! It’s the same look I’ve seen lately on my 3-and-a-half-year-old grandson — ever since I told him the angel on top of the Christmas tree is watching everyone so she can report back to Santa.