The Grouchy Editor

 

TCM was showing a Disney movie, a nature film about a cute squirrel named Perri. It had been quite a few years since I’d watched anything Disney-related, so I tuned in.

After we are introduced to furry little Perri and her adorable squirrel family, the movie proceeds to document one vicious Mother Nature-orchestrated slaughter after another. A marmot catches and tears Papa Squirrel to shreds. A hawk spots a flying squirrel and snags it for dinner. And so on. A man narrates the carnage in the blasé tone of someone describing how to butter toast.

It was, to say the least, a disturbing experience.

I’m not sure why kids who watched these Disney movies, including yours truly, didn’t just crawl under their beds and stay there for life.

 

 

Merry Christmas. 

 

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The FBI is warning that ISIS would like to attack your church this holiday weekend. Trump and Putin have decided that this is a good time to remind everyone that nuclear warfare could obliterate us all.

Merry Christmas.

 

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Shepard Smith on Monday informed viewers that President Obama pardoned a number of people during his “pregnancy.”

I’ve tried to locate video but, alas, the Internet fails me.

 

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Speaking of pregnancy, this was in the news:

 

 

No comment.

 

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How to conduct a news interview: Rachel Maddow, arguably liberal media’s best interrogator, sparred with the unflappable Kellyanne Conway on Thursday. Great television.

 

How not to conduct a news interview:  Tucker Carlson, Fox News’s latest attack dog, was called a “son of a bitch” by flustered journalist Lauren Duca on Friday. Garbage television. 

 

Carlson:  “You should stick to the thigh-high boots. You’re better at that.”

Duca:  “You’re a (bleeped).”

 

I suppose she might have said “sexist pig.” Hard to say, since I don’t read lips.

 

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A piece of advice for sports fans (and everyone else) living in cities with professional teams begging for new stadiums: In Minnesota, taxpayers were warned that the Vikings and Twins “could not compete” without brand-new, taxpayer-funded playpens. After the billionaire owners and millionaire players got their new stadiums, the citizens were rewarded with … noncompetitive teams.

 

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I didn’t like it when Bill Clinton put his unelected wife in charge of health care in 1993, and I don’t like it now when Donald Trump gives his unelected progeny prominent seats at government meetings (above). Trump’s going to have enough problems with his own conflicts of interest without dragging in The Stepford Kids.

 

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Trump hasn’t even taken the oath of office, yet it feels like he’s been president for years.

Let’s see: We have a Trump-related crisis with China and a Trump-related crisis with Russia, and we have Trump-related impeachment talk in Congress.

And Trump won’t be sworn in for another 34 days.

 

Like my pal Keith at Walgreens says, it’s going to be an interesting four years.

 

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I’m convinced that this whole thing began five years ago when Obama ridiculed Trump at the White House Correspondents’ dinner. Trump decided then and there that he would run for president – just to spite Obama.

I believe this because the day preceding that dinner is the last time we have documented evidence of Trump with a smile on his face.

 

Oh, and these “thank you” tours? I’m surprised the media isn’t calling them what they obviously are: “I crave the adulation of a big crowd” tours.

 

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Vladimir Putin is said to have a “personal beef” with Hillary Clinton. Sort of like Trump having a personal beef with Obama, or George Bush having a personal beef with Saddam Hussein.

Seems increasingly obvious that world affairs are governed by personal beefs. Doesn’t matter if you went to Harvard or Yale. Doesn’t matter if you are worth billions of dollars.

And it doesn’t matter if you lead your country into war. The important thing is to resolve your personal beef.

 

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I suppose Chris Matthews gets a thrill up his leg when he sees commercials for this movie.

 

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Rex Tillerson:  I can’t recall any person in the news whose pictures so often and so prominently feature … nose hairs.

 

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Yeah, you dummies. Lucky for you, you can always watch it on Netflix.

 

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I had to chuckle when I saw Time’s announcement of Person of the Year, because I knew what was coming. Time really ought to consider changing the name of the thing, possibly to “Influential Person of the Year,” if only to spare itself some grief.

As happens almost every year, Time got swamped with Twitter outrage from ignoramuses who equate the magazine’s declaration with an endorsement.

Maybe Bill Maher is right: Maybe America really is a nation of idiots.

 

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I’m seeing a lot of trailers for the movie Miss Sloane, and not for the first time I am struck by this notion: Jessica Chastain is not a very good actress. Why does she keep getting such juicy roles?

 

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Some feminists are upset with the song “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” which was first sung by Mexico-born Ricardo Montalban in a 1949 movie, and which feminists feel depicts a man coercing a woman into unwanted sex.

These feminists must be racist like Trump: Mexico = Montalban = rapist

 

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Sure does look like Donald Trump is draining the Washington swamp of crocodiles. Problem is, he’s restocking it with alligators. Mostly Goldman Sachs alligators.

 

The question could be: Who will the alligators eat first, taxpayers or Donald Trump?

 

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If Trump is going to deport immigrants, I suggest he start by giving the boot to clueless newcomers John Oliver and Trevor Noah, who don’t seem to understand (or care) that the United States has a Midwest.

My guess is that the two of them watched an episode of Duck Dynasty and then decided they had a finger on the pulse of America’s heartland.

 

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I’m not digging Nat Geo’s Mars because I have an aversion to the woman who plays the crew’s captain (below). She is a humorless puke, and I dislike humorless pukes.

 

 

I suppose that in real life, should I find myself stuck on Mars and battling to survive, I would want my captain to be a humorless puke. But I’m watching a TV show, so I don’t care to spend so much time with this particular humorless puke.

 

Did I mention that lately I am enamored of the term “humorless puke”?

 

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Some enterprising grad student or media watchdog should document the amount of air time Fox News anchors devote to promoting their books. Led by “Buy My Book” Bill O’Reilly, so many minutes are spent on pitching memoirs and novels, you have to wonder how much real news gets sacrificed.

 

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Netflix keeps churning out original movies and series that don’t interest me. On the other hand, I’m grateful to Netflix for importing so many good foreign shows.

I just finished “Department Q,” a series of three films from Denmark, and I recommend it. It’s a cop drama that does suffer a bit from James Bond disease, in which the endings turn sensationalistic and silly, but everything else – intriguing characters, striking visuals, grim atmosphere – clicks.

 

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If there was any doubt that Donald Trump continues to represent the horny American male, one need only take note of one of the first congressional Democrats that Trump chose to consult: Hawaii’s Tulsi Gabbard (above and below).

 

Hey, someone has to notice these things.

 

 

 

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We are being swamped with thoughtful analyses from journalists coming to grips with the presidential election. Everyone seems to agree that Trump won because a large segment of the American population felt ignored by Clinton and the Democrats.

 

My question: Where were all of these thoughtful analyses before November 8?

 

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If you’re a fan of interesting rants, here’s an interesting post-election rant from British comedian/journalist “Jonathan Pie.”

 

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Is there a more awkward-sounding or awkward-looking word than “awkward”? Onomatopoeia at its best, baby.

 

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We all need a break from Trump talk, so let’s check in with one of the five remaining houseguests on Big Brother, Texas cheerleader Morgan, to see what she’s been up to during the election season:

 

 

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Hail to the Coif?

 

I don’t know; maybe Donald Trump really will wake up one day, filled with rage at Latvia or Colombia or New Zealand, and push the button that nukes us all into World War III. Maybe Trump will decide that deporting Mexicans isn’t enough, and start shipping Mormons to Antarctica.

However … the golden-haired Grinch had a Rocky-like thing going for him on election day, in which we all watched in amazement as the country’s elite – every last one of them aligned against Trump – was forced to swallow a slimy raw egg.

It was delicious to observe pompous asses like Van Jones, Seth Meyers, Samantha Bee, Lena Dunham, and so on and so on, choke back tears as their arrogance and smugness came back to bite them in the collective butt.

And it was gratifying to hear the heart of the country, the so-called “blue wall,” tell the smirking know-it-alls on both coasts to “fly over this!”

 

But I’m not going to gloat. I’m too busy building a bomb shelter.

 

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It looks like Tuesday will be “National Cut Off Your Nose to Spite Your Face Day.”

 

We’re cutting off our noses because we can’t stand the smell of our presidential candidates.

 

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The real winner on Tuesday will be Stupid. You are Stupid if you vote for Trump. You are Stupid if you vote for Clinton. You are assuredly Stupid if you don’t vote, or if you vote for someone other than Trump or Clinton.

 

No matter what you do on Tuesday, Stupid wins.

 

 

© 2010-2025 grouchyeditor.com (text only)

 Black Mirror (see below)

 

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“Hello, Mike Lindell!

“I have been seeing your commercial for ‘My Pillow.’ In fact, I have probably seen your commercial 5,433 times this year. Unfortunately, your irritating, omnipresent commercial is causing me to lose sleep. I tried counting sheep, but the fluffy white critters kept turning into – you guessed it – Your Pillows.

“Like you, I call Minnesota my home state. We should get together sometime. I believe I will find out your home address, come to your house in the middle of the night, and stuff Your Bleeping Pillow right up Your Bleeping Ass — sleep on that!”

 

 

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This can’t possibly be true … can it?

 

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TV Tidbits

 

 

Rectify, now in its final season, is one of those shows that’s a tough sell to potential viewers. I go over the story’s plot in my head and I put myself to sleep.  Recapping individual scenes doesn’t cut it. The tone is relentlessly downbeat.

Yet it’s arguably the best drama on TV. If you haven’t seen it, then you are like almost everyone else. But there’s always Netflix, if you’d like to catch up.

 

 

Speaking of Netflix, Black Mirror is back with six new episodes. Like Rectify, Black Mirror is one of the best shows on television. But it’s also given me a renewed appreciation for Rod Serling and his Twilight Zone, a series Black Mirror is often compared to.

Since 2011, Mirror creator Charlie Brooker has given the world a whopping … 13 episodes. Back in the day, as they say, Serling would crank out that many shows in just half a season.

 

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Texas cheerleader Morgan Willett keeps giving (some of) us reasons to check in at the Big Brother house:

 

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