Erratum, mea culpa

Hugh Hefner by Mort Drucker

Sorry, Hef, sorry. R.I.P.


It was bound to happen. After 132 daily blog posts, there was going to be some straight up bone headed errors. Unlike our current president, Trump, I am not above apologizing and setting things straight. Also, unlike him, I have gooder hair and better command of language, me too. Forgive me in advance for the following blunders.

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Rocketman and the Dotard

It was an uncommon moonless evening in North Korea. Rocketman was fast asleep like a chubbier panda bear. It was an ozone alert, gloomy, hazy and grey day in Washington D.C., and as usual, the dotard was napping. This was his lifestyle. If there were no tv cameras trained on him, he was snoozing.


“What a crowd. What a turnout.”

The two entities were sharing dream space, and it was not a pretty sight, unless you’re into a barren post-apocalyptic zone. Death and smoldering were omnipresent, lots of smoldering, believe me.

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