Animal’s Hump Day News

Happy Hump Day!

Another journey has come to an end when last night my beloved Mrs. Animal and yr. obdt. landed late in Anchorage to face our 90-minute drive home. Worth every bit of it, of course; you’ve already seen my thoughts on CPAC, and while we were in Colorado we got some quality time in with my in-laws, who are some of the nicest people who ever drew breath, and our two younger kids.

But boy, is it ever nice to be back in Alaska, and back to my usual routine, even if it is -5 outside at the moment.

And so…

On To the Links!

Trump Easily Defeats Haley in South Carolina

How Trump Became Unbeatable

We can’t deport Venezuelan criminals?  Sure we can – fly them over their home country, kick them out. Parachutes optional.



Trump at CPAC. I was there.  The guy was on fire.

The very best Get Out of Jail Free card – a “D” after your name.

No. They won’t.

Because of course, they are.

Neither. For Pete’s sake, Michelle Obama isn’t running for anything.

I’d bet good money against Tulsi Gabbard being Trump’s VP pick.

How to save free trade.

No shit, Sherlock.

Is there a python in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?

A spy… pigeon?

Of course, there’s a cover-up!

They should be scared of Biden staying in.

This Week’s Idiots:

Paul Krugman (Repeat Offender Alert) remains a cheap partisan hack and an idiot.

The LA TimesJackie Calmes is an idiot.

Juan Williams continues his descent into idiocy.

Salon’s Heather Parton (Repeat Offender Alert) is an idiot.

The Mayor of Kansas City is an idiot.

The LA Times Robin Abcarian (Repeat Offender Alert) is an idiot.

This Week’s Cultural Edification:

In 1967, a very young Dustin Hoffman starred alongside the lovely Anne Bancroft (Mrs. Mel Brooks) and the delicious Katherine Ross in The Graduate, in which Hoffman played a young man caught between his older lover and her daughter, more nearly his age.  The soundtrack of that film included the Simon & Garfunkel song, “Mrs. Robinson,” which was, of course, the name of the older woman.

Fast-forward 13 years to the summer of 1980. I was 18 and spent a good part of that summer… involved with a woman who was exactly twice my age, 36.  While I learned more that summer than I would have in ten years with girls my own age, and while I roundly enjoyed the liaison and would have continued it had her ex-husband not had the habit of dropping by her apartment at awkward moments bearing bunches of roses, eventually that affair, as those kinds of things usually do, ended. But for the duration of that summer, the pack of miscreants and ne’er-do-wells I called my friends would burst into song any time I showed up somewhere; that song, being, of course, Mrs. Robinson. Here, then, is that tune. Enjoy.