Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell is a beaut. Dude was key in orchestrating President Trump’s $1.5 trillion tax cut bill. He couldn’t count the GOP members’ votes fast enough. In stark contrast, earlier this month, the old man blocked a coronavirus relief bill. He was particularly concerned about the extension of unemployment benefits, $1,200 checks to every American, and the bill’s failure to protect companies from pandemic-related litigation.

Moscow Mitch could not arrive in front of the journos fast enough to announce the Senate’s passage of tax relief for his friends and donors. However, when the federal budget was set to grow due to stimulus to citizens, who are not fortunate enough to rub elbows with the Senator, my man becomes the staunchest of deficit hawks. There is a toasty spot in hell for hypocrites, like Mr. McConnell.

Before Philadelphia, again, shut down in response to the exponential growth of coronavirus cases (Seems like the pandemic is real. Wrong again QAnon kooks.), I rolled the dice and regularly went to a gym. I discovered a new member of the gym: Pandemic Gym Guy, who must have been training for the U.S. Olympic trials. While wearing a mask, the dude would sprint the length of the gym, huffing and puffing past any unfortunate member who was using equipment near Carl Lewis’s lane. I hope he makes the team. U-S-A!

It’s a bit late, but I’ll rant anyway: Publicizing via Facebook or Instagram or AOL Instant Messenger the fact that one voted is fucking corny. Thank you for participating in democracy by exercising your right to vote. No one cares. I don’t see anyone advertising their other constitutional rights, “I practiced religion today,” or “I pursued happiness today.” I would be much more impressed if they honestly listed the candidates they voted for. Lay it out for us; risk ruffling some feathers. That post would be more compelling than the “I voted” scintillating update.

For my Always Reminds Me segment – Boys of Summer by the Ataris triggers memories of the summer of ’98 or ’99 when I, along with twenty or so of my friends, rented 235 39th Street in Sea Isle City for the summer.