…due to “concerns over his workload.” What a gentle reed! Pussycat! Real men don’t turn down professional opportunities because they’re hard…Jesus. Send Mulaney to Lee Marvin boot camp.

So why are the owners of Saugatuck Sweets trying to convert heathens and existentialists?

Friendo: “I agree with this a thousand percent. Very glad you wrote it. Something seismic has shifted. To the point that I don’t think comparing the Harris movement to the ‘High Hopes’ JFK campaign is at all out of line. As in 1960, this is about the candidate, but it’s also about something much larger than the candidate — a major pivot from the place we’ve been (the darkness of the Trump years, which absolutely include 2020-2024). You can feel the LARGENESS of the coalition. And the votes of women — of all stripes — are going to add up to a tsunami. Trump, the showbiz con man, suddenly looks like the old, dark, grim establishment.”

The Hawk Tuah thing is over, right? But I’m too stupid to understand what Hawk Tuah meant to begin with.

It’s an oral sex riff, of course, but in plain, dumb-guy, not-hip-enough-to-comprehend-it language, does it mean (a) a woman spitting on a guy’s erect member prior to giving him a blowjob or (b) spitting after he comes in her mouth? Either way I’m not understanding the trigger. How is the act or spitting saliva or ejaculate of any particular interest to guys in the TikTok realm? Who cares?

[FAIR WARNING BUT CANDOR IS REQUIRED] I have been a happy recipient of hundreds of generous and glorious female favors over the decades, and not once has saliva-spitting (i.e., the kind you can hear) been a procedural factor. Not once. Just saying.

I’m sorry but I didn’t start this, and I wouldn’t have mentioned it on my own dime if it hadn’t become a thing.

@iamdlaney #funny #fy #foryoupage #foryou #lol ♬ original sound – Dustin Laney

Letter to brilliant anti-woke friend, sent this morning:

“As I wrote yesterday, I have concerns and trepidations about Kamala Harris, but I also believe that her candidacy has become, over the last few days and at least metaphorically, a spiritual and inspirational movement of sorts.

“It’ll be a huge, huge deal for a woman of color (African Jamaican and South Asian descended) to become President. JFK in ‘60, Clinton in ‘92, Obama in ‘08…Kamala’s campaign is one of those. It’s a social movement thing that’s stirring exceptional currents. It’s a seminal change-and-hope event.

“Just a few days ago my attitude was (a) I would prefer Gavin Newsom or Pete Buttigieg, and (b) Kamala may lose to Trump considering that cackle and how she was chosen by Joe as a DEI symbol and how she didn’t connect at all during the 2019 and early ‘20 primary season.

“But something has shifted and she’s somehow caught on over the past week — she’s become someone or something else via some kind of cultural flash flood.

“Freed from the context of the ‘20 primaries, she’s now the younger, much smarter, more spirited, more humane and embracing alternative to The Beast.

“Obviously Harris is imperfect or even thorny by way of wokeness and identity zealotry and demonizing ‘white dudes’, but the white dude thing means, in this context, angry Trump supporters.

“As you know I feel best about sensible left-moderates or classic moderate Republicans like Glenn Youngkin, but I also feel that standing with that deranged criminal sociopath (a McDonalds loyalist and the fattest would-be President since William Howard Taft) can only unleash the ugly.

“Will Harris unleash a form of woke aggression as far as anti-white guy mentalities are concerned? Maybe, but she’s not stupid and life has a way of tempering attuned people and dissuading them from going too far.

“The bottom line is that Kamala is nowhere near as toxic or malevolent or dangerous as Trump.”

And on the other hand something that should make any serious cinema lover cringe, if not feel nauseous over.

Honestly? My first reaction when I read McClintock’s report was “good God.” I kinda hate that this kind of Marvel vapidity has succeeded so overwhelmingly. But I’m not sorry that exhibitors are celebrating.

…coming from someone who feels that identity issues are truly annoying distractions, primarily in terms of Oscar campaigning but also, particularly right now, in the political arena.

But despite certain misgivings about Kamala Harris and despite my anger about droolin’ Joe Biden having robbed Democrats of an opportunity to choose a presidential candidate through a primary system, it hit me yesterday that the idea of this country electing, for the first time in history, not only a woman but one with an African-Jamaican and Indian heritage to serve as U.S. President…I think that this kind of historic decision will be a truly excellent thing from a certain metaphorical vantage point.

And so I hope it happens. It’ll be good for the country’s spirit and soul. The Harris candidacy is more or less on the same historical footing as Barack Obama‘s in ’08, Bill Clinton‘s in ’92 and JFK‘S in ’60.

In short and not because this “means” anything in particular (even though it sorta kinda does), Hollywood Elsewhere endorses Kamala Harris for the presidency. Not without qualms or doubts or trepidations but what the hell…in for a penny, in for a pound. Make it happen, make it real, push it through.

Initial answer: Uhm…not that much?

Alternate answer: Technically yes but not so you’d notice.

Third answer: Okay, she’s “black” but mainly exudes a daughter-of-India appearance…nice Coppertone tan, button nose, thick dark hair, friendly dark eyes. Nothing, in short, that really says woman of half-African descent..,she’s certainly no Whoopi Goldberg or Michelle Obama. She’s not even Gugu Mbatha-Raw.

I will not subject myself to cheap, shallow tripe…period, end of story,

Earlier today I explained that a certain friend is for Trump not because she thinks he’s a good guy, and certainly not because of who or what he is as a political administrator. She does, however, see him as an antidote to the deranged progressive cultists on the left.

She sees this raging fatass as a form of therapeutic punishment — a battering ram — that needs to happen…a brute who will bring pain and anguish to the radical woke nutters (especially those who continue to advocate giving puberty blockers to minors and approving gender-altering surgeries for same) and force them to realize how crazy and skewed their identity-driven thinking has become.

And she’s absolutely right in this particular respect. The left has gone seriously mental in a diseased, cult-like way. As Bill Maher observed a year ago, they’ve more or less become Chinese Communists in the tradition of Mao’s great cultural revolution of the mid ‘60s, shaming and canceling those who aren’t fully on board with their anti-meritocracy program.

The problem with DEI as a social philosophy and program for social advancement is that it’s generally opposed to meritocracy, and therefore can’t be anything other than fundamentally unfair — a top-down ideology that discriminates against Average Joes of fair minds and good will or a facsimile of same.    

I differ with my friend in that I don’t think a second Trump term will provide the kind of traumatic social corrective that will cure the left’s insanity. The wacko left, remember, was inspired or manifested by Trump’s election in 2016. I think they’ll only dig their heels in deeper if Trump, whom I regard as a sociopathic, foam-at-the-mouth animal, is re-elected.

After decades of only half-listening to Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band, I suddenly became a convert about three or four months ago. I actually bought three albums. Strange but that’s how it goes sometimes. You suddenly awaken and there’s no explaining why it took you as long as it did. I guess I felt removed from the blue-collar Michigan experience…something like that.

I was raised as an Episcopalian, and as much as I hated Sunday school when I was eight and nine the boilerplate teachings of Christianity must have somehow seeped into my head. Because via the profound transportation of lysergic acid diathylamide I sought out spirituality in my early 20s, and this resulted in my becoming a kind of upper-middle-class Hindu in flared jeans and Brooks Brothers shirts, led along by by the saga of Arjuna and Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita.

So I’ve always felt a certain affinity for satori and holiness and spiritual ritual (candles, incense, singing of dreary hymns). Sometime in the ’90s I attended a Catholic mass service inside Notre Dame in Paris, and on some level it felt right. I attended another one in Rome around the turn of the century — same feeling when it ended. I’m no Christian, mind — I’m an LSD mystic by way of Siddhartha, Steppenwolf, Baba Ram Dass, Sri Chinmoy, Alan Watts, George Harrison and John Lennon.

But I’m not Bill Maher either. I respect what the faith of Christianity has at least tried to do as far as guiding or influencing the flock in the direction of kindness and occasional charity and whatnot.

But dear God, I felt such intense nausea when I watched the Ru Paul-ish drag show parody of the Last Supper during the opening ceremonies for the Paris Olympics. Pissing on Christianity! I sat there and felt sick. That morbidly obese chick with the silver-halo crown around her head, making a heart shape with her hands…I’ll never forget that Porky Pig face as long as I live. Jesus H. Christ! And that blue Dionysus guy! The trans community has really and truly shit all over itself this time. An obscenity.

News bulletin for full-of-themselves trans exhibitionists worldwide: There is more to life than gender switch-offs and sexual identity. You’ve just stamped your own ticket, guys. Your time of benign cultural favor has just ended. The world is disgusted. No offense but people hate you.