A deliberate corruption of an oft repeated phrase of Sailor Man Popeye, “Well blow me down.” Why the maniacs at Macy’s used his demise to buffoon him and balloon him and march his inflated image down Fifth Avenue on our day of giving thanks was never explained. It was as though Macy’s was singing “Ding Dong the sailor’s dead.”
Popeye gave no quarter to balloons.
Canned spinach magically amassed muscle on Popeye’s right bicep causing its battlecruiser tattoo to fire a booming broadside over a tinny rendition of Yankee Doodle. Any other bulges both sacred and profane remain undocumented.
Macy’s better hope Popeye doesn’t have a ghost. I’m not sure if even real people can haunt after death. Hard to say for cartoons. And I don’t want to hear Casper. He and his whole crowd are just a bunch of sheets.
This is not a Halloween satire. This is a Thanksgiving satire. Halloween sucked this year. And saying better than last year is comparing dog shit to cat. Even last year was better than last year. Thanksgiving was simply insane. Christmas? Don’t even ask.
People of the Hebrew faith have rushed into Hanukkah already and don’t even try to blame the Lunar Calendar. They just want the holidays over with and who can blame them?
We survived Black Death Friday and now even Covid Cyber Monday. Many if not most of us will not see the new year because there isn’t even going to be one. This year is not 2021. It’s 2019 III. And when December runs out it’s going to be 2019 IV.
Or not. You decide.
Don Arrup
Satire1
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