Tag Archives: taylor swift

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

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1. Dick measuring veterans. I know, that’s a bold statement to say anything other than “thank you for your service,” but hear me out. I’ve spent the majority of my adult life working with active duty soldiers and a heavy helping of veterans who have opted to come back to work as civilian employees. The one thing that most perplexes me about the veteran community is the incessant dick measuring – You’re not a “real” veteran unless you were in combat, or this one is a better veteran than that one because “he only went to Afghanistan twice and I went to Iraq three times.” As an outside observer who honestly indifferent about the outcome of most “best veteran contests,” it really feels like the weirdest thing to try making hay over. The military is a big place and expecting everyone who raised their hand to have the same experience across a span of decades is simply ridiculous on its face. 

2. Cats. Ivy has been here at the house for a little over a month now. We tried the basic slow introduction and did well right up until we got to the last bit – letting everyone roam free. Ivy is determined that Cordy and Anya exist to be chased. In turn, they have mostly holed up under my bed any time Ivy is on the loose. What I seem to have created is a two-shift situation where Ivy is free to move about the place from about 5AM – 5PM and then gets relegated back to her kitted out bathroom while Anya and Cordy take over the house from 5PM to 5AM. It’s not ideal and absolutely doesn’t feel like a situation I’m going to be able or willing to keep up with indefinitely. Just how long I’m going to let it run, though, remains the uncertain variable. I don’t need them to be the best of friends, but I do need them to eventually coexist as at least disinterested parties.

3. The Islamic State. It’s hard to imagine a stratagem less likely to engender support for your cause than launching a terror attack on Taylor Swift in concert. I assume that ISIS and its slack jawed religio-fascist followers simply don’t grasp the magnetic force that woman holds over millions of devoted fans, who would simply demand that the western world’s governments scourge the wanna-be caliphate from the face of the earth if they hurt a single blonde hair on Dr. Swift’s enchanted head.

The Deep State always wins…

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Well, here we are. The day after the Super Bowl. I haven’t had the news on yet, but I assume that means that we’re now firmly under the rule of the Deep State after the Kansas City Chiefs won the game and completed the greatest PsyOp in human history. 

Sadly, since it was a work night, I went to sleep before they showed Taylor Swift crowning Joe Biden Intergalactic Emperor for Life on the 50-yard line following the presentation of the Lombardi Trophy. I’ll have to pull up the pictures of that later. I’m sure it was a quiet tasteful ceremony. 

In any case, I’d like to formally congratulate the Deep State on winning Super Bowl LVIII. 

If there’s anything the red-pilled, basement dwelling, faux-alpha right wing should have learned by now it’s that, in the end, the Deep State always wins. 

I was enchanted…

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I had an absolutely bonkers dream a few nights ago. I found myself attending a concert somewhere in Cumberland in the far western stretch of Maryland. I never really quite identified the venue, but it was a small room, certainly not a concert hall or an arena. I’m assuming it only exists in my head and doesn’t in any way reflect reality in western Maryland. Don’t ask who was on stage, because I don’t have the vaguest recollection of that part. 

My seatmate, though, was arguably the most recognizable living American. For reasons defying any kind of human logic, my fever dream fueled hallucinating brain paired me off with “the music industry,” Ms. Americana herself, Dr. Taylor Swift. She was a good concert buddy. 

She ended up inviting me to dinner at some off-brand Denny’s. They had no clean tables and everyone was staring. It was awkward, but we talked for what felt like hours before leaving to drive around while the sun came up. 

Dream Tay was very insightful, even if her driving skills were questionable. Dream me was a wonderstruck. I like to think that didn’t stop me from being the same brand of sarcastic bastard everyone knows and loves. 

As the night of being hood rats in Allegany County drew to an end, Dream Taylor did finally catch me off guard. 

“I’m engaged,” she says. 

“I know,” I reply. 

“That doesn’t make this awkward?”

“I don’t know why it would. I don’t want anything from you.”

“Really?”

“Really.” 

At least dream me is definitive and my subconscious didn’t turn me into some variation of douchebro chowderhead, so I’ve got that going for me. 

It was the kind of dream that was profoundly out of character because of a) Who played the leads and b) the fact that I remembered it at all. It was so unusual that I felt compelled to scribble down the highlights before I even got out of bed or fully woke up.

Still, I was entirely enchanted.