“Masters of War” by Bob Dylan

Come you masters of war
You that build the big guns
You that build the death planes
You that build all the bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks

You that never done nothin’
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it’s your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly

Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain

Image by Agent-99X

You fasten all the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you sit back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion
While the young people’s blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud

You’ve thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain’t worth the blood
That runs in your veins

Image by Agent-99X

How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I’m young
You might say I’m unlearned
But there’s one thing I know
Though I’m younger than you
That even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do

Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good?
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could?
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul

Image by Agent-99X

And I hope that you die
And your death will come soon
I’ll follow your casket
By the pale afternoon
And I’ll watch while you’re lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I’ll stand over your grave
‘Til I’m sure that you’re dead

“The Senior Tour”

This post (using ChatGPT) was inspired by my friend BR who had shared this supremo photo (below) from the 1975 Masters of Chi Chi Rodriguez and his caddy, Carl Howard. My buddy noted the relative lack of brand logos and product endorsements in that era, which led me to ponder what a comparable player on the senior tour might look like these days.

Eight-time winner on the PGA Tour, Chi Chi Rodriguez from Puerto Rico was always fun to watch, particularly when putting as he might hole a long one and do his famous sword-fighting dance. His caddy here at the 1975 Masters (won by Jack Nicklaus) was Carl Howard, looking the total bad-ass, who no doubt had some great stories of his own to tell.

“Spreadsheet (and Spread-cheek) Medicine”

Zero risk, high reward. What’s not to like?

This is, of course, not unique to healthcare. In fact, it is a defining feature of virtually every aspect of our decaying society. So, not only are we getting Donald J. Trump’s chicken-scratch signature on our paper currency, they are also changing the motto to match the ethos of our Darwinian economy. It’s long overdue…

“Planet of the Imps”

In collaboration with ChatGPT and my two old friends, agents X-98 and X-99.

I love the idea that Trump, vainglorious bastard that he is, would actually change the face of the Stature of Liberty to match his own dumb-ugly mug. Words are insufficient to describe what a catastrophic pox he is on our society. And, sadly, he will continue to be long after his exit from the stage since he has offspring and has also taught an entire generation how to openly lie, commit flagrant fraud and avoid the consequences of his countless nefarious actions. And in that vein, I propose that we rename the organism that causes syphilis Treponema trumpidum (subspecies assholio). Hell, he’d probably love the shout-out himself. No such thing as bad publicity.