“The prince is never going to come. Everyone knows that; and maybe sleeping beauty’s dead.” ― Anne Rice

The Idler is feeling tense lately. There seems to be anxiety in the air, a feeling of uncertainty and misgiving. One week the Steelers are a well oiled machine, the lads out there gamboling about the greensward kicking butt with elan and taking names with panache. All the talking heads assured us that they could not be stopped by any force on heaven or earth with the possible exception of the loathsome and sinister Patriots, and even then the latter had better bring their A game. No, make that their A+ game. With mustard on it. A week later they get walloped by a bunch of stiffs in fish helmets. So where do you turn?


The Tube – Sure, but it seems like you can’t turn it on without getting schooled on what a lying, conniving, backstabbing racketeer the one candidate is, followed by a point-by-point inventory of the opponent’s various depravities and unparalleled corruption together with a demand that he or she be immediately committed for life to a supermax prison, preferably Gitmo. So you turn off the tube, but it’s not enough to turn off, you have to have something to turn to. What about . . .

Religion – You’d think they’d at least leave the Catholics alone, since they’re already spending half their time trying to figure out the pope’s latest ad lib. But no. The Wikileaks emails show that the Democrats were keen to infiltrate the Catholic church because of their, the Catholics, “backward” beliefs. What, just because they spoke Latin ‘till 1965? The Clintonistas even created front groups that pretended to be Catholic in order to herd the flock into the Democrat column. Next we’ll find out the Trump campaign offered to comp the Presbyterians at Caesar’s Palace. With all that going on, maybe religion is too serious to snap us out of our funk, what with the sinning and the penance and the apocalypse n at. We should probably try to relax with some . . .

Sports – Other than the aforementioned black & gold, that is. You know, speaking of Armageddon, what could be a more definitive sign of the end times than the appearance of two classic losers like the Cubs and the Indians in the Series? And yet it could happen. Surely on that day we shall hear the trumpet blast, and the galloping of the Four Horsemen, and not the Notre Dame variety either, who seem to have taken the year off, but the apocalyptic quartet. There will probably be only enough time for a quick jolt of your favorite variety of . . .

Alcohol – Oh wait, Jim Beam is on strike. Seriously. Well, if you’re religious or know someone who is, see if you can get some prayers going or something. You could light a candle, or, wait, can you do novenas for this? Just say it’s to settle some labor strife; you don’t have to mention the booze. Well, we suppose there’s always . . .

Sex – Yeah, right. You know whose sex lives we’ve been hearing about? Two seventy year old guys. That’s a seven with a zero after it. Seventy. And none of it has to do with anything that’s happened lately. Which we guess is actually a blessing in disguise. Yeah, we know, Sean Connery is crowding ninety and women still find him sexy. Something tells us he’s not flirting with Moneypenny any more. He’s probably now got a license to nap, though. We’d be better off taking a trip to . . .

The Circus –  But now you can’t even buy a clown outfit at Target because of all the creepy clown incidents, so we have to wonder where we’ll have to go to get our own personal clown accessories. Maybe we can find a supplier by using our new . . .

Samsung Galaxy Note 7 Smart Phone – Uh-oh. We’ll have to get back to you on that. Meanwhile we’ll be hiding under the bed until the election is over.

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