"The future ain't what it used to be" -- Tom Petty

The cheery thought in the title of this post was going to be the basis for another rant about everything going to hell. Much of that rant-to-be was inspired by reports that the Washington mall shooter, a Turkish migrant who is not a US citizen, managed, nevertheless, to vote in three elections. Now, since he is a Democrat and a Hillary supporter we can't expect the media to make it much of an issue. Imagine, however, that he had been a white German or Canadian migrant who happened to vote three times and was a Trump supporter. Well, I think the reaction would have been different. I have written quite a bit about this issue of electoral fraud (here, for example) and won't go over it again except to say that our election system is increasingly a farce. Electoral fraud is rampant and getting worse. It is to the point where it can and will affect elections.

Instead of that rant, however, I will write about something else: cars, dogs, and guns. First let me start by saying that the Diplowife and two of the Diplokids are in Spain for a wedding. They went the other day to see a soccer match between Atlético de Madrid and Bayern München, which Atlético won 1-0. Thanks to modern communications, the kids sent me lots of video of them at the game just as a way to remind me that they were having more fun than I.

In an effort to prove that I, too, could have fun, I loaded a couple of my guns into my 1966 Oldsmobile 442 and . . . nothing. Not even a Hillary cough when I turned the key. I had allowed the Diplowife to drive the Olds into the garage a week ago and, yes, she did a Jesse Pinkman (a "Breaking Bad" reference for the enlightened insider) and left the ignition in the ACC position rather than in the OFF position. Needless to say, but I will say, the battery was dead, dead as dead can be. Not even my usually reliable FAT MAX battery jumper could bring life to the beast. I had to buy a trickle charger and the poor innocent senior is now hooked up. With luck, tomorrow I will be able to fire her up, head down to Poway, and burn off some 45s: I want to get proficient with my two Kimbers. Instead, therefore, of going to the gun range, and in anticipation of coming holidays which promise to deliver child creatures to the main Diploresidence, I went over to Turner's and bought a very nice Made in USA Winchester gun safe--they have moved production from China back to the US--which will be delivered some time next week. The safe is fully compliant with California's increasingly bizarre gun laws, and can withstand the latest Iranian and Nork nuclear weapons . . . well, maybe that's an exaggeration.

My dogs are fairly large brutes, both in the 100lb-plus category. One is a very handsome but grumpy Akita/Shepard mix and the other is also handsome but a very high-strung Dane/Shepard mix. They are inseparable. It looks as if it is one dog with two heads, some weird Soviet experiment of the 1950s. They are always tightly together, and always staring at me. They have a rather unnerving and unblinking stare of great seriousness which conveys more clearly than words the question, "Well, what are we doing next?" I have this two-thirds Cerberus following me around the house almost 24 hours a day, with that question broadcasting from its four hazel eyes. Since the Diplowife is gone, the mini-Cerberus has access to the master bedroom. At around 0530, the beast sits next to my bed, four eyes about 12 inches from my face staring at me with laser-like intensity, letting me know that the beast is wondering when I will get up and direct the day's activities. It is an awesome responsibility.

Running for President is nothing compared to dealing with this pressure:

Well?

I will rant the next time. Sorry for this apolitical break.