About 500 years ago, René Descartes, the French philosopher and mastermind behind the pageboy haircut, decided that the mystery of our existence could be explained in three words:
Cogito, ergo sum.
Yep, that fancy-pants Latin phrase (“I think; therefore, I am.”) has been the philosophical foundation of existence for a long time.
Just think about it: when you think about the meaning of existence, you’re thinking—and that means you exist. Everybody thanked Descartes for alleviating their worries about whether or not they existed. He got paid money for thinking that thought, and apparently he spent most of it on frilly gowns and couture hosiery.
Descartes’ immortal words are a universal truth all over the world. Except in Florida.
Thinking is frowned upon in Florida. Florida has its own philosophy: “I don’t think, but I do vote; therefore, I also own a closet full of guns and hate gay people.”
It’s ironic that Florida—the most phallic-looking feature on every map of the world—is also the most anti-gay. They hate the gays, and they’ve come up with some strange ways to make sure we know it. Hell, they even decided that the Gay is contagious. How else could you explain their new law that says Don’t Say Gay within earshot of a child?
It’s gotten to the point that Florida’s biological diversity has been boiled down to two distinct life forms: humans, and redneck swamp creatures.
I think the whole thing is pretty damn warped. Florida Governor Ron DeSantis (yes, the one with the fabulous white go-go boots) can’t even go head-to-head with a damn mouse. Every time he sues Disney, Mickey Mouse wins. That’s because he’s suing Disney over their “woke” ideas about empowering all of God’s children. I’m telling you, DeSantis is ten pounds of gall in a three-pound sack.
But the real splash of whiskey on the bread pudding is that DeSantis actually got married at Disneyland. Please, someone tell him that a Magic Kingdom wedding is just about the gayest thing you can do!
And one more thing, before I start planning my summer over here in our own swampy paradise: I just wanna say that I become inappropriately cheerful thinking about Donald Trump’s indictment. Even aside from Trump looking all miserable at being hauled in front of a judge, I’m savoring the hypocrisy coming from his Republican fan club in Congress.
So far, Congressvarmint Majorie Taylor Greene, the Queen of Whiners, is whining the loudest about the routine legal proceedings that Trump must sit through. To hear MTG tell it, you would think the judge had decided to ship Trump off to Guantánamo for a few weeks of “enhanced interrogation.”
Actually, the Stormy Daniels hush-money trial will be fun. Trump has the right to remain silent, but not the ability.
Hey, if you put Donald Trump and Clarence Thomas in the same room, the fumes from all of their ethical breaches and shady dealings would ignite like a California brush fire. We could bag up the smoldering remains and sell it as Insta-Crap fertilizer. It probably wouldn’t be a Home Depot top seller—unless we put the crap in big bags with a nice photo of a smiling Ted Cruz. Surely that would boost sales this summer, at least here in Texas!