Senior Edition – The Folks Who Live on the Hill
“And when our kids grow up and leave us
We sit and look at that same old view
Just we two, Darby and Joan
Who used to be Jack and Jill
The folks who like to be called
What they have always been called
The folks who live on the hill” – Oscar Hammerstein II
Twas long ago and far away (“Iwhen last we visited the comedic caption series, “Worth a Thousand Words,” back in an era when a soon to be forgotten, easily-dismissed, moderate empty-haircut conducted a presidential campaign as a far-right, repressive reactionary only to lose in a landslide of good old American common sense. If you were amongst the sizeable majority who cast a ballot in favor of the sitting executive and are now experiencing any modicum of remorse or slight sense of uncertainty in light of the recent spate of Issa-driven and belligerently bogus, supposed scandals, please let me share a quote from Mitt Romney’s latest public appearance –
"I can tell you the hurricane didn't come at the right time… That’s because one of the advantages of incumbency is that, when there is an event like that, you get to see the president in a fatherly role and showing his sympathy for people who are harmed, who have been victims of a storm. And, obviously, that gives a little boost to the president’s efforts.”
Yes, friends, Willard’s wishes are not that Superstorm Sandy had never occurred at all. Mitt’s misgivings are not that 159 people perished in its increased, climate change caused intensity, or that countless others suffered injury, or that billions of dollars of property damage was incurred. Romney’s regret is that the timing of the cataclysmic event negatively affected his electoral chances. Make no mistake, Willard Mitt Romney is a parasitic mite of a human being, if he indeed can be categorized as a human being at all, completely lacking in humanity, benevolence or empathy, whose entire biography reflects an attitude of seeing other people as but tools to be taken advantage of, used and discarded in his pathological desire for infinite gain, moneys and power. We are a fortunate nation for his loss.
But Mitt is happily history and soon enough, more than reality, he will seem like a past unpleasant nightmare, to quote Ebenezer Scrooge, “you may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!"
Gleefully, we move onto this current “…and several butcher’s aprons” installment - we are grateful to the inordinately generous Gods of Comedy as they have, once again, alit upon this mortal coil and compassionately presented a picture with plentiful and prodigious, parodic potential and possibilities. So, with appreciation to Groucho, Harpo, Chico and Zeppo, the aforementioned deities, and without any further ado, some photos for your entertainment pleasure.
Note: As is always the case, all submissions can be enlarged with but a mouse click for easier reading.
And now, we conclude with the smooth, velvety baritone of, far too little remembered, jazz great, Arthur Prysock and his recording of the Jerome Kern and Oscar Hammerstein standard, "The Folks Who Live on the Hill."
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