take me out to the ball game

I just read that the jersey that Babe Ruth wore when calling his famous home run shot in the 1932 World Series was sold at auction today.  It sold for twenty-four million, one hundred and twenty-thousand dollars.

That's $24,120,000.00.

For a Babe Ruth very famous World Series, "called shot" baseball jersey.

Somebody, somewhere is popping what is probably a million ($1,000,000.00) dollar bottle, perhaps a magnum, of champagne, and wondering what to do with an old, worn, stained baseball jersey; albeit, an iconic one.

Don't get me wrong.  I am a sports fan.  My wife jokes around that I will watch anything on television as long as there is a ball thrown into it.  I am surprised she has not thrown a tennis ball across the yard to see if I will chase it, bring it back to her, perhaps even in my mouth, and then beg her to throw it again.  Then again, if I brought the ball back in my mouth, I doubt if she would ever touch it again.

$24,120,000.00

For a used baseball jersey.

Why would one even want to spend that kind of money on an iconic used baseball jersey?

According to Chris Ivy, the director of sports auctions at Heritage House, the place that ran the auction of the jersey, "This stuff is a great conversation starter as opposed to, you know, buy more IBM stock, investing in real estate -- a lot of people felt they were kind of maxxed out on those things"...

So they went and spent $24,120,000.00 on a used baseball jersey.

$24,120,000.00

I just checked on line.  I can buy a Babe Ruth White "Cool Base" Jersey for $135.00 at Dick's Sporting Goods. E-Bay has a Babe Ruth pinstriped numbered jersey listed for $45.00 -- plus $8.87 for shipping, but I need to hurry because they only have one left.  I guess the last one just sold for $24,120,000.00.  For real Yankees' fans, the only place to buy Babe Ruth paraphernelia would be Stan's Sports World, which is practically across the street from Yankee Stadium.  Well, until they built the new Yankee Stadium, it was across the street from the old ballpark, which is why they advertise that they are still across the street from the "real Yankee Stadium".  I looked on their website, but could not get the cost of a Babe Ruth jersey to load on my computer.  Perhaps they were embarassed at the $24,120,000.00 asking price.

Or maybe if I had asked one of their salespersons I would have been told "If you have to ask you can't afford it".

But it got me to thinking...

What else could somebody have done with $24,120,000.00 rather than spend it on a Babe Ruth "Called Shot" game worn baseball jersey?

How many schools could you repair so the children could be better equipped to learn?  For that matter, how many qualified, motivated young teachers could you hire at a decent salary to push those children to reach their potential?

How many school lunches could you buy for hungry children?  For that matter, how many people could you feed in a soup kitchen?

The neighborhood where Yankee Stadium is located is not exactly the most affluent neighborhood in the City.  How many homeless families could you provide decent, livable permanent housing with $24,120.000.00?  How many of the buildings in the neighborhood could you repair so that there would be heating in the winter, air conditioning in the summer, and hot water year round?  How many of those families could you provide with decent clothing?

How many student loans could you pay off?  I know, these days, the answer to that is probably one or two...

I could go on, but you get the point.

Whoever it is that just forked out $24,120,000.00 for a baseball jersey is undoubtedly thrilled to death to now own it.  I cannot say I am unhappy for this person, nor do I envy them.  Let them enjoy their "deal".

As for me, I will settle for the $24,119,865.00, less applicable tax I will have left over after buying my Babe Ruth White "Cool Base" jersey at Dick's Sporting Goods, and not really care if it is not game worn.  At least it will not smell like a game worn jersey that has not been laundered in nearly one hundred years, so there is at least a chance my wife will let me wear it in the house where we can contemplate what we will do with the leftover cash...

After we finish playing fetch in the backyard.

Oh, Wyoming, Part Three

I am not quite sure if I should not really call this one "Oh, Connecticut".  Anyway...

In spite of the earlier "Oh, Wyoming" entries from a few years ago, we are still here.  And we are still meeting... well, let's just call them "interesting people".

The latest "interesting people" are a slightly older than us couple who are from Connecticut.  They have recently left the Nutmeg State for greener pastures, which now includes Wyoming. We met them yesterday at the tasting room of a vineyard in the town of either Cowley (pronounced "Cali" by the locals) or Lovell (pronounced "Lovell"), Wyoming.  The exact location of the vineyard, and apparently every home on the road the vineyard is situated upon is up to great debate, as neighbors get to choose where they are from resulting in an absolute mishmash of folks claiming to be either from Lovell or Cowley with no particular rhyme or reason for their choice.  The vineyard claims to be in Lovell, although as far as I am concerned they are much closer to Cowley.

But I digress...

I had never heard of this vineyard before turning into their driveway yesterday.  My wife found out about it via a page she follows on Facebook and decided to surprise me.

And what a surprise it was.

The place is run by Nancy and her husband, whose name I never got, and their daughter Nicole.  Nancy has roots in the area.  She and her husband were living in the Seattle area prior to "retiring" and moving here with the original thought of buying and flipping properties.  Nicole had been living in Texas, and is a certified vintner.  They are all thoroughly delightful.  When the family bought the property, Nicole is the one who planted and nutured the grapes that eventually became the vineyard.  They opened to the public in 2020, just as COVID struck, but somehow managed to keep the place above water.

It is now a hidden gem in Big Horn County.

Nancy and Nicole were regaling us with the story of the vineyard and the wines we were about to sample, when the interesting people walked in.  As seems to be part of their customary greeting, Nancy and Nicole asked the interesting people where they were from, and were told they live in the same town our place is located.  Mr. Interesting then announced they had recently arrived having escaped "communism".  They did not look like they were from China, North Korea or Cuba, so I made the mistake of asking where they had fled from, figuring if it was within the USA, this was another jab at California or even New York.  Instead, we were advised that the seat of the red menace in the United States is...

Connecticut.

I will concede the obvious that Yale University is located in Connecticut, although I am not exactly aware that Yale is run under a charter written by Karl Marx.  I will also note that George W. Bush, not exactly your typical Commie, is a Yalie.

It appears that Mr. Interesting believes that Connecticut is a "corrupt communist state" because his real estate taxes went up this year.  We were supposed to be completely aghast that his taxes went up somewhere in the neighborhood of twelve percent over last year.  He repeated the twelve percent for emphasis, or in case we did not hear him the first time.

Apparently, Mr. Interesting did very little research when he decided to buy property here.  If he had, he would have found out that property taxes around here just about doubled over the course of the past three years.  When told this, Mr. Interesting's hat almost fell off his head.

It turns out that Mr. and Mrs. Interesting also moved away from Connecticut to avoid what seems to be pesky rules and regulations, although we were not told exactly what those pesky rules and regulations are.  We were told that the rules and regulations are proof that the entire state is corrupt.  They apparently believe there is nothing corrupt about Wyoming, which may or may not be the case, or the state where they maintain their other residence...

Florida.

We managed to steer the conversation away from communism and corruption, primarily in order to avoid a discussion about politics which would undoubtedly turn entirely ugly, and found out that Mr. and Mrs. Interesting are avid travelers.  They like to cruise out of ports in Florida for months at a time.  Since we have cruised a bit ourselves, I tried to engage them on their favorite cruises and ports of call, and was regaled by Mr. Interesting over the abject poverty of ports of call on the west coast of Africa and Central America.  Nothing about the beauty of the land or the people.  We were told, however, that they liked Australia, where they have cruised at least twice.

At this point, Nicole decided it was a good time to enjoy a glass of her wine with a couple who had sat at a table on the other side of the tasting room.

Mr. and Mrs. Interesting decided they had to move along as well.  They did, however, leave us with a parting shot...

The place they bought is not only in the same town as our place, but on the same road.

We are neighbors.  

We should stop by for a drink some time.

I can hardly wait.

Are We a Christian Nation?

An old friend of mine recently posted a photograph from "Romper Room" of what purports to be children and a teacher saying grace before the afternoon milk and cookie snack.  For those not in the know, "Romper Room was a children's television show that ran for a bit more than forty years beginning in 1953. The photograph was accompanied by the caption, "Don't tell me we were not a Christian nation".  The implication from the caption and the photograph is clearly that this nation was born Christian, is Christian and will always be a Christian nation.

The translation of this to many of us is "Don't tell me we ARE not a Christian nation".

I have known the friend who posted this for just about fifty years.  I will not name him here.  I will say he is as good a man as there is.  When we disagree on issues of the day, which is frequently, he is always respectful and goes out of his way to tell others on his thread that he respects my opinions and the way I voice them.  I do not believe he posts things like "Do not tell me were were not a Christian nation" in any kind of hurtful or mean way.

But...

I am not Christian.  I do believe I am basically a good and decent person who tries to do what is right for as many as I can.  In the long run, isn't the goal of humankind and most religions to produce good and decent people?  Even if some of us do not go to any kind of church, temple, mosque, etc. to pray to whatever your image of God may be?  I for one would rather put my trust in a good, decent, law abiding, charitable atheist than a good looking, sermonizing person wearing religion on his sleeve and willing to tell anyone about it, who then turns around and swindles you at first opportunity.  Or worse, uses their religion as a sword against all who do not believe as they do.

That is not religion.

When items like this are posted, what must be taken into account is not only how the message is received by people just like you, but also by people who are not.  When you say things like "Do not tell me we are not a Christian nation" that makes me wonder if you believe I am not welcome here or if I somehow do not have the same rights as a human that you do simply because I do not pray to the god you have chosen to. Does this mean you believe all Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, Shintos or whatever other member of any other organized religion other than Christians should leave the United States or convert to your preferred religion and worship your preferred deity? If we don't, do we lose the right to vote?

When you say "Don't tell me we are not a Christian nation" that message is received in the Orwellian terms of "all men are created equal, but some men are more equal than others".  As far as I am aware, that is not what Christianity in its purest form is about.

It is also not what this nation is about; therefore, when you tell me that I cannot tell you that this is not a Christian nation...

This is not, and never has been a "Christian nation".  

This is and always has been a "Freedom of Religion nation". That is what it says in the Constitution, not that only Christians get to fully observe their religion. The First Amendment guarantees the right of all religions, not just Christianity.  The word "Christianity", "Christian" or "Christ" do not appear anywhere in the Constitution.  In fact, there is no document of the Founding Fathers that guarantees the rights of only Christians or takes away or advocates taking away the rights of any other religions.  The documents do guarantee that all members of all religions are to be treated equally in this country.

That means that all are free to follow whatever religion they wish and to worship whatever deity they wish, even if it means not belonging to any religion or praying to any god at all.  If you are Christian and want to worship your God, your Jesus and your Holy Ghost, by all means, feel free to do so. I will fight for your right to worship as you wish.

But that does not mean you get to tell me that I cannot worship whatever deity I wish, and don't tell me in the name of your religion I have to follow the rules of your religion, even in secular aspects of public life, especially in a country founded not upon Christianity, but upon the right to to pray, to worship, to congregate, to socialize and indeed to live as we wish.

And don't tell me that there are consequences for not following your religion and that you have the right to force your belief through legislation and decree of all sorts upon the rest of us.

Before you tell me this is or is not a Christian nation or any other kind of nation for that matter, read your history.  Start with the Constitution.  Consult with historians.  I know a few I can point you to.

 

 

us postal blues

If you want no greater example of how bureaucrats in search of justification of their political/personal agenda can foul up just about everything they put their hands on, look no further than Louis DeJoy's United States Postal Service.

I briefly touched upon the Post Office in my note of October 17, 2022 on turning sixty-five, in which I outlined how the Post Office managed to hold a month's worth of junk mail while forwarding bills, my Medicare card, instructions, etc. to an address I had left in Wyoming that month earlier, leaving a simple forward order as I do every year at the end of the summer season.  I had no idea of what I was in for this season.

Apparently, the procedure for forwarding mail changed some time this spring from the usual fill out a forwarding order and wait for your mail to actually get forwarded to something akin to an episode of "The Twilight Zone".  The simplicity of the new system is such that the Postmaster here in Wyoming told my wife and me the system is screwed up and she does not know how to unscrew it.  To add to our confidence in the system, she told us she had never seen anything as bad.

It all started on June 21 when my wife went to our post office on Long Island to submit the annual forwarding order for the summer to our home in Wyoming.  She went in person.  She submitted all the paperwork in person.  She had her government issued photo id with her, and showed it to the nice person at the post office counter, although at the time we did not know this was necessary.  She asked if anything else was necessary.  She was assured it was not.

So off we went to Wyoming.

Having our suspicions about the post office, upon our arrival, we went to the post office location here in our hometown in Wyoming.  We showed our governmental issued id to the nice person at the counter, who turned to her handy dandy desk top, clicked a few buttons, hummed a bit, and assured us that our hold was in the system, and that we should expect to receive mail shortly.

So we waited...

On July 8, having seen nothing arrive in our mailbox yet, we went to the local post office again, showed our governmental issued id, and were once again assured that our forwarding order was in the system and mail was on its way.  Upon our return home, we stopped at our mailbox, where we found a notice in the mail from the post office on Long Island that we had twenty days from the date we had requested our mail be forwarded to Wyoming to show up at the post office with our governmental issued id to confirm who we were and that we were where the mail was to be forwarded so that the mail could actually be forwarded.  Our carrier from Long Island had thrown a bunch of mail that had accumulated in the enveloped stack, including bills, checks and a jury summons for my wife informing her she was to report for jury duty the week prior to the date the package arrived in our mailbox in Wyoming.  The package sent by the carrier from Long Island to Wyoming was postmarked June 27.  It took the post office eleven days to get it to Wyoming.  I could have gotten it faster myself by bicycle.

I immediately called our Long Island post office, and was assured that our mail was not being sent back to senders, but that I should go to our post office in Wyoming to confirm we were here, something we had already done, but that they could not confirm in Long Island.  It was too late to go back to the post office, so we returned on July 10 at which time the nice worker behind the counter took our governmental issued id again, this time my driver's license, turned on his handy dandy post office computer, entered the information on my driver's license, and hemmed and hawwed for a few minutes while the computer would not accept my license in spite of the fact that it is governmental issued photo id.  Not to worry.  I had my global entry photo id.  The program would not accept that either.  The nice person behind the counter then told me THIS WAS HAPPENING TO PRACTICALLY EVERYBODY.  After disappearing into the back offices for several minutes, the nice worker returned and told me everything was fine and we would be receiving our mail shortly.

So we waited.

At the end of July, having still received no mail, we went back to our local Wyoming branch.  My wife spoke with the postmaster, showing her driver's license with her photo.  The postmaster then personally contacted our Long Island post office while standing directly in front of my wife, and told her this should satisfy things, but if they did not, she did not now what else to do.

So we waited.

By the end of August, with our local Wyoming mailbox threatening to sue for non-support, I lodged a complaint with the local Long Island post office.  This resulted in a call several days later from a postal inspector from Long Island, in which she first told me I had to go to the local Wyoming post office.  When I told her we had already done this four times, she told me she would look into this.  In the mean time, she volunteered that the new system requiring everybody to confirm their confirmations was screwed up, not working at all, and you can't believe how may people are complaining that they are not getting their mail.

I think I can believe it. 

The next day, she called back and left a message for me that there was nothing she could do as our original forwarding order had expired without our confirmation being entered into the system.  We would now have to submit a new forwarding order and attempt to repeat the process.

In the mean time, after I spoke with the postal inspector, our carrier put together another stack of accumulated mail and shoved it into an envelope where this time, it only took five days to arrive in Wyoming, meaning I could not bicycle it faster here, but I could personally drive it faster.  This time, we had the usual collections of bills, checks owed to me, and another jury summons for my wife, this time telling her if she did not show up two weeks prior to the mail arriving with the summons that a warrant would be issued for her.

Also in the mean time, we have still yet to receive any mail all season long in Wyoming, other than a grand total of three letters, each of which were addressed here in Wyoming rather than to our address on Long Island.  

Two were birthday cards for my wife.

Instead of  conforming to the definition of insanity by doing the same thing over and over and expecting a new result, on September 7, I simply placed a hold on the mail on Long Island.  The longest we are allowed to place a hold is thirty days.  Today, October 1, I went on line to extend the hold another two weeks.  I was told I cannot do that.  I tried submitting a brand new hold, but was told I could only do that if I cancelled the original.

So now, there will be a race to the Long Island post office when we get back to claim mail before it is all returned to sender, I am told ten days after the expiration of the hold order on October 17, assuming the Long Island post office is actually holding mail, which I must assume, as there has been no mail delivered here, but then again who knows?

I am, however, looking forward to eventually receiving a stack of accumulated mail, either when we get to Long Island or when we eventually return to Wyoming, including the arrest warrant for my wife for ignoring her jury summons yet again.

my own personal debt ceiling

I think I have this right.  I am sure somebody will correct me if I do not.

The republicans in congress understand that the debt of the United States is guaranteed under the 14h Amendment of the Constitution.  They also understand that the debt ceiling needs to be raised to ensure that debts already incurred by the federal government are paid, just as is required under the Constitution.  In order to ensure that the debts are paid, however, they are demanding that future spending be cut, but only from programs they do not like, such as Medicaid, Medicare, Social Security, and the Internal Revenue Service, the first three of which protect seniors and the least fortunate among us, whom the GOP apparently do not care much about, and the last of which ensures that everyone pays their fair share, especially those who earn the most, which they certainly do not want any part of.

They somehow think banks, lending institutions, investors and the general public will go along with this.

It got me to thinking...

I have a rather large credit card bill coming up.  I know the bill has to be paid.  After all, it represents debts already incurred, but...

Before I pay this bill, I need to negotiate with those ultimately responsible to pay the bill so as to ensure that I do not continue to incur this much debt or simply to prevent such spending in the future.

Therefore...

I am placing my wife on notice.  Before I pay my credit card bill, the two of us need to reach a deal. Going forward, we are no longer going to purchase household cleaning items, plants, flowers and shrubbery for her garden, which she has used the credit card to purchase, or any of the clothes she wants to wear during forthcoming vacations.  

We are also not going to purchase new shoes for her or any doohickeys she thinks may either be helpful around the house or beautify it in any way using the credit card.  

For good measure and to ensure that our already incurred debts can be paid, our agreement will include a prohibition of purchasing any gas to be put in her car or groceries I do not like, especially those disgusting lemon cookies, or any ingredients used to make avocado toast, which, ought to be classified as a biological weapon of mass destruction and should be outlawed anywhere and everywhere.

Of course, she will agree that the stuff I like is not subject to negotiation, including the sports channels on our cable system, all food items I like, including mushrooms, most seafood, goat cheese and yogurt, all of which make her gag, gas for my car and vacations to places I want to go to, regardless of whether or not she does.

This is all friendly, so we do not need to engage lawyers to draw this up, especially since I am one, and I am not willing to pay for hers.

Once we get all of this agreed to and signed, we can pay the credit card bill, as long as we pay it out of her accounts.

I am sure my wife will agree to this.

I am equally sure the credit card company and our banks will think this is a great idea as well.

the blue plate special and other thoughts on turning 65

Yesterday was my sixty-fifth birthday.

While I do not feel particularly old today, by all governmental metrics, I am now a senior citizen.  I am eligible for discounts on the Long Island Railroad, movie theaters, museums, amusement parks and a bunch of diners, if I feel like showing up to have dinner before six o'clock.  Then again, why wouldn't I want to have dinner before six, when I am likely to fall asleep right afterwards?

As for the things I would really like, there are no senior discounts, like airline tickets, the good seats at ballgames and driving into Manhattan without paying tolls.

My family and friends have taken great joy in telling me how old I now am.  The exception is my wife, who tells me my age at this time does not matter because I was old when we first met.

I was nineteen at the time.

Turning sixty-five does have its benefits.  Well, at least "benefits" that include being eligible for Medicare, which means that I go from a health insurance policy that was about as good as it gets to a steaming morass of something that a Nobel laureate would have trouble understanding.  I am sure the benefits administrator at the school district my wife taught at where our insurance originates must wake up each morning by now, shaking with fear of the thought that I will contact her with yet another question about our coverage.  You would think that those in charge would want to make sure the average senior could understand coverage rules and procedures under Medicare; however, as an Ivy League graduate, I am as much in the dark about this stuff as I am about theoretical physics.  

Then again, I think I can actually figure out black holes and that sort of thing.  Black holes are where claims under Medicare go to die.

 I was in Wyoming when I originally applied for Medicare.  I was told the process would take about three or four weeks.  Eight weeks later, I went to the local social security office to see what was holding things up, and was told the office in Jamaica, where my application was referred to had received it, but...  well that was all they could tell me.  I was given a direct phone number for somebody in the Jamaica office, who acknowledged they had received the application weeks ago ad done nothing with it.  She then took a bit under ten minutes on the phone with me to review and approve the application.  One wonders what would have happened if I had not gone to the Cody, Wyoming office to find out what was happening.

Or maybe black holes are something invented by the post office for those trying to figure out Medicare.  As noted above, we were in Wyoming when I originally applied for Medicare.  After the application was finally approved, our time was running short before returning to New York.  I placed a hold on all mail, figuring that my supplemental Medicare card and information would be waiting for me when we got back to our Long Island home.  In the mean time, mail kept arriving in Wyoming.  I went on line and placed another hold on the mail, which kept arriving anyway.  When we arrived in New York, I went to the post office to pick up the held mail, and was handed about a month's worth of junk mail.  The rest of it, the real mail, had been forwarded to Wyoming, where it apparently still sits, including various bills, my supplemental Medicare card, handbook and instructions.

A friend went to the mailbox in Wyoming last week and told us it was stuffed.  She says she mailed us the stuff that was not junk mail.  We expect to receive it some time before the next Millennium.  Either that, or I will show up at the post office next week and find out they just discovered the hold order on the mail, and are now storing it up for me even though the order has expired.

At least I still have my health, or at least I better until the forwarded mail arrives.

I still have my family, including my wife, who if I was old at nineteen, must think I am on the edge of fossilization by now, and my sons, who must think the same.  At least my granddaughter has yet to make fun of me.  Then again, she is only eighteen months old and refers to the family cats as "Mama".

That said, I am lucky.  There has been little heavy lifting thus far in my life.  I am told they save that for the time you get a hernia lifting paper plates in the buffet line at the company picnic.  I have a wife whom I absolutely adore even if she thinks I may be Methuselah.  I still have Mom, who still is as sharp as ever, and may be the one person left who believes I am young enough to carry out the garbage.  I have my sons, my daughter in law and my precious grandchild.  I have most of my wits still about me and the ability to travel and enjoy life with friends.  Life has been good to me.

So fit me for a hearing aid -- if my Medicare supplement ever arrives -- and bring on the blue plate special.  I have always liked meat loaf anyway.

park county fair-y tales

 As many of you know by now, our living in Wyoming for the past few years has been a bit of a challenge, with the traditional friendliness that attracted us in the first place having, shall we say... evolved over the past two years. I bring you the latest in Wyoming wholesomeness... 

This is the week of the Park County Fair here in Wyoming.  You know, a good ole fashion hokey, wholesome county fair fresh with corn dogs, cotton candy, demolition derby and parade through town complete with small floats and shriners in little scooter/motorcars tossing candy to the kids lining the sidewalk, where they have to fight the adults for it -- like me.  The fair and the parade are supposed to bring out a certain community spirit that you tend to see in small town America, a certain "can do" in the face of all that keeps seeming to happen to all of us.  There is a certain pride associated, as people working in the local stores come out and watch along with the locals as the parade goes by. 

We were in the local Ace Hardware today as the parade started to make its way down the street, and had a good smile and laugh with the employees as the candy was being tossed to the kids.  We felt a certain sense of community pride as a small float went by urging all to go to Yellowstone "come hell or high water", obviously referencing recent wildfires and the cataclysmic flooding that closed the park for a while last month.

And then...

There is a guy who owns a very large, very yellow station wagon he parks on the side of the main road connecting our small town with Cody, the nearest town of any consequence anyone outside of the area may know.  He calls the big yellow monstrosity "the Trump Train".  As you can imagine, it is festooned with all sorts of Trump paraphernalia, including flags, signs, banners, and the recent addition of  a life sized cut out of cadet bone spurs himself seeming to drive the station wagon, wherever it may be going.

And there it was today, toodling down the parade route in the middle of town, flags and banners flying, with the guy who owns this thing at the wheel, gleefully waving to the crowd.  

Now I have no problem with this guy owning his station wagon and doing whatever the hell he wants to do with it, including hanging Trump stuff all over it and parking on the side of the highway for all to see as they drive by.  His car.  I believe his property.  His choice.

But...

Does he have the right to drive this thing down the middle of the street in the Park County Fair parade fully adorned with all the Trump paraphernalia, including the addition of a flag and painted sign on the side of the big yellow monstrosity, cheering "Let's Go Brandon"?

We all know that "Let's Go Brandon" has become a sophomoric tag line for those who either do not want to or do not have the guts to say in public "Fuck Joe Biden".

So there this MAGA genius goes down the middle of the parade route with his "Fuck Joe Biden" signs and flags, in front of children, among others, and most in the crowd think this is okay. The same people who will scream if you say something like the first word in that slogan near them without attaching "Brandon" to it, and will wash their kids mouths out with soap if they dare.

And trust me, the kids in the town -- and all over for that matter -- know what "Let's Go Brandon" means, unless they are less than three years old.  This has been pushed on them for the last two years by the townsfolk, including their parents.  Remember, that this town is in the county in which the County Commission took the ridiculous vote after the second impeachment of the yellow monstrosity's hero to declare that Liz Cheney was no longer their congresswoman.  Yes, they took the taxpayer's time and money to debate and pass that resolution.

On top of all of this, you need to get approval from the Park County Fair Commission (or whatever its actual title is) to ride your bike, your car, your float or your Trump Train in the parade.  So the Commission apparently thought it was okey dokey to drive this thing telling us all to say "Fuck You" to the sitting president of this country right down the main street of a parade designed to show off community pride.

I do not know what is worse, the idiot driving this thing, whoever at the parade governing body approved it knowing what the message was, or the town cheering him on.

So apparently, we are now to be swelling with community pride to tell our sitting president to go fuck himself.

I am bursting at the seams...