Nazi Wife-Swapping

Could this be true? Is the white supremacist, architect of the TACO administration’s obliteration of basic decency a cuck? It's looking likely!

The Independent tells me that Stephen Miller’s wife’s left the White House to work for Elon Musk ‘full time.’ There’s no mention of shenanigans but there wouldn’t be, now, would there? At least not yet, huh?

How much of a disappointment, both in and out of the sack, do you have to be for your wife to start an affair with old Apartheid Clyde. We already know for a stone fact that Katie Miller is just as vile as her apparently no-longer-so-beloved husband Goebbels, I mean Stephen.

She was once crazy for him. Remember when Stephen was ripping apart families at the border in the first disastrous TACO administration? Yeah, I guess that was a real turn on for our Katie. When it comes to immigration policies, it seems she's just as vilely cruel as her husband.

In a conversation with journalist Jacob Soboroff, who documented the tragic system behind the separation of families at the U.S-Mexico border in his 2020 best seller Separated: Inside an American Tragedy, Miller said her family and colleagues told her she’d “think about the separations differently” when she had kids. “But I don’t think so,” Miller is quoted as saying. By her own account, the Department of Homeland Security once sent her to the border “to see the separations for myself — to try to make me more compassionate — but it didn’t work.” Quite the flex. (source) 

But, seriously now, she went for Leon? Why? More hair? More drugs? More moolah? Was it the bold-as-you-please public sieg heils (Stephen, apparently, will only do this at home)? A college classmate of hers said that "The only thing she loves or values in this world is power. Anyone she attaches to in her life is simply a pawn to feed her addiction to it." Ouch, harsh.

I only mention it but he really DOES 
look better in the chicken suit.

Considering that Stevie-boy’s gonna go down with Chicken Man (someday – HEY, a girl can dream!) and Musk might still be rich enough by then to buy his way free – Katie may be throwing her weight behind the safer Nazi perv.

I’ve seen talk that Musk and the Millers formed a throuple. I’m old. I had to look ‘throuple’ up.

It’s a relationship involving three people who are romantically or sexually involved with each other. Ya know, NOT my scene but whatever floats your spacecraft and shit. Still, with these three?!EWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!

Question—it’s out in the world as accepted fact that Leon’s weenie don’t work. He allegedly had a botched dick embiggening operation and, ever since, his dog won’t hunt. (I hear tell Kristi Noem will gleefully put him out of his misery at no charge. She’s into that sort of thing.) 

If Space Nazi’s not in a sexual throuple //shudder// with Mr. and Mrs. Goebbels 2.0, what purpose does Clyde serve in the relationship? A third hand for Cribbage? Crazy Eights? Go Fish?

Since Stevie’s busy overseeing the abductions, humiliations, and imprisonments of legal US residents, maybe Leon fills in all the missing romantic flourishes?

He doesn’t seem like the hearts, flowers, and Love Songs of J. Alfred Prufrock type though. Even if he was, what sort of sweet gestures speak to and sway a person devoid of so much as a teaspoon of heart and soul? 

Maybe Katie's keen on Leon's swimmers? Could be Goebbels 2.0s’ well has run dry and she’s eager to bring another bouncing baby autocrat into the world? She’s Jewish though and I believe that’s against Leon’s white-makes-right Nazi code of dishonor. Also, from all important reports, his current 512 children were all conceived in test tubes with ultra white Martian space dust (this MUST be true, I saw it online). So, he can’t be courting Katie as the next Aryan host body who he’ll soon stiff on support payments. 
 
The question remains – is going from the immigrant torturing, rule of law eschewing, democracy, decency and humanity defying Stephen Miller to that narcissistic, grifting, socially stunted, racist, shortsighted, horrific business-weasel who’s stolen or was handed every single success he’s ever taken credit for, really a step up for Katie?

I only mention it but Leon and his little DOGE gremlins stole our data. They have access to our most sensitive systems. They opened the door for Russia to steal our data more than Chicken Trump already had. Musk made himself richer and killed all the investigations into his companies. All on our, the taxpayer’s, hard-won dimes.

The man deserves life in prison. At the very least.

Someone suggested that Katie and Musk ain’t boinkin’ – they’re bumpin’ purses. Yep, this I could see.

This news? I don’t know whether it inspires me more to wild schadenfreude-y fits of mirth or maybe I just wanna pour myself a stiff drink. 

WHO doesn't love tacos?

We had tacos for dinner last night. You?

In case you missed it, some clever folks on Wall Street came up with a term for our idiot president’s tariff batshittery. They’re calling it TACO trade. That stands for ‘Trump Always Chickens Out’.

“Trump’s style in negotiating deals is he huffs and he puffs, but he doesn’t blow the house down,” Ed Yardeni, president of Yardeni Research, told CNBC. (source)  

He’s all bluster, bullshit, and ham-handed, halfassed artifice and the whole world’s got his number now. He’s fooling no one but his cult of morons

The overemotional clown freaked out at a journalist yesterday who dared to ask for his response to financial analysts new term for his trade style. 

"Oh, I chicken out. Isn't that nice? I've never heard that," Trump said during the exchange, before defending his recent decisions to slash his tariffs on China for the next 90 days and extend his deadline for a 50% tariff on goods from the European Union until July 9. (source) 

He hasn’t heard that because he only watches “news” shows that fellate him 24/7.

He then said to the reporter "Don't ever say what you said because that's a nasty question.” Christ almighty, he sounds like a four year old and I’m being generous. A guy on Threads suggested that every time Cheato says a journalist’s question is “nasty,” the next thing that should be asked is, “President Obama took tough questions like this. Why won’t you?”

Ooooooo, that would just cause him to explode, wouldn’t it?! Man-o-man, that’s an interview with this slug from Hell (not to diss Hellion slugs mind you) that I’d actually watch. Fer fuck’s sake, I’d make popcorn and root for myocardial infarctions, cerebrovascular oopsies, and other miscellaneous excitement.

Make no mistake, it’s not just the old, incontinent, second rate, WAY-off-the-Vegas-Strip Jabba the Hutt impersonator and White House resident who’s making grand declarations and then collapsing like a deck chair under…well…the weight of president Jabba the Hutt.

Look at Senators Josh Hawley of Missouri, Susan Collins of Maine, Rick Scott of Florida, Ron Johnson of Wisconsin, Rand Paul of Kentucky, and Utah’s Mike Lee. They’re saying they won’t vote for Dipshit Donnie’s ‘Big, Beautiful, Bill’ (OH spare me!) Why? Because, essentially, it doesn’t rob and rape us regular, non-filthy rich citizens nearly enough. For all the wrong reasons, these trash brained weasels could save us. Will they? Fuck no. Republicans always cave to their big Daddy. They’re a bunch of spineless, bullying, perpetually on-the-take frauds. 

THEY always chicken out too. It’s the Republican way.

Backing down can become a way of life.
~ Oliver James

Courage is fire, and bullying is smoke.
~ Benjamin Disraeli

Look into the eyes of a chicken and you will see real stupidity. It is a kind of bottomless stupidity, a fiendish stupidity. They are the most horrifying, cannibalistic and nightmarish creatures in the world.
~ Werner Herzog 

I know a few people who raise chickens (the birds, not republicans). They would vociferously disagree with Herr Herzog but, well, gotta sich in die Lage des anderen versetzen.

I'm not counting any chickens.
~ Jeff Bridges

What a Week!

It's only Wednesday.

I had physical therapy yesterday. When we got home, I sat and chilled for a bit and then got up on my goddamn, motherfucking elliptical and did a full 30 minutes. That’s a first (not the 30 minutes part – I've been up to that for about two weeks now). Normally I go full metal dirt slug after my PT sessions (deservedly so). Naps are involved. None were had yesterday.

Don’t fucking tell ME I’m not making progress – I totally AM!

Reader…no one has accused me of failing to improve.

 Okay, it was me. I have whined and kvetched about the fact that, after six, count ‘em six, neurosurgeries (one of which caused my “brain to stop talking to my left leg” as my surgeon Fred put it. Thanks Fred!) I am STILL not skipping the light fandango. (yes that's a Procol Harem reference – sue me, why don'cha) I have a problem with that lack of skipping and fandangoness and shit. Of fucking course I do!

Fish evolved into land creatures faster than I’m regaining strength and balance, ffs! Okay, I might be indulging in a wee bit of hyperbole here. Hey, it happens!

In any case, I have a ridiculously early appointment so, here, have some cats and such.

Cake ignoring me. Today's his anniversay day, by the way. Three years of ruling Valhalla.

Skitter and Walter are on duty. Fiercely, I might add.

In case you missed it, May 19th was Malcolm X's birthday. Art by Jesse Duquette

Maybe it’s just me

But I REALLY cringed hard over the weekend when I saw ads for BIG Memorial Day sales. Then there were all the folks cheerfully wishing others a "happy" Memorial Day weekend. Fer Bastet’s sake and SO sorry to be Donna Downer but has everyone forgotten what yesterday, the past weekend, was supposed to be about?

Ya know, to honor and remember those who died while serving (or as a result of their service) in the military and shit?

By the by, the very first Memorial Day observance was at the end of the Civil War on May 1, 1865 in Charleston, South Carolina. The people who had been owned by other humans (and treated no better, usually worse than, livestock) organized the day to honor those who had died liberating them. Also, to give these Union troops proper burials.

Yes it’s totally cool to have barbecues with family and friends, to head to the beach, go hiking (yech), lay in bed reading, eat bon bons, but remember the meaning, the reason for the day. Show a little respect, dammit.

FYI and you probably already know this:

• The third Saturday of May is Armed Forces Day – it’s the day we honor those currently serving in the military.

• The eleventh of November is Veterans Day – this is the day we honor all veterans, living and dead.

Related, Sherman Alexie’s Memorial Day substack post.

Adolph Alexie, my father’s father, was killed in action on April 6th, 1945, on Okinawa. He earned a posthumous Bronze Star for heroic service in a combat zone.

Six months after he died, his wife Susan died of tuberculosis. So my father, Sherman, Sr., and his sister, Ellen, were orphans raised by their grandmother. 

My father was a war orphan. My siblings and I were raised by a war orphan. The death of a soldier creates generations of loss.

I honor my grandfather’s sacrifice but I wish that he’d survived the war and made it back home to the reservation.

My father never talked about his father. My father never talked about his loss. My father never talked about his grief.

Go read the whole piece (it’s short).

And the chorus of Paul Simon’s song The Coast comes to mind:

This is a lonely life
Sorrows everywhere you turn
And that's worth something
When you think about it

Sorta, kinda, not really related, an interview with Alan Alda in The Guardian entitled ‘My mother didn’t try to stab my father until I was six’: Alan Alda on childhood, marriage and 60 years of stardom

I’ve always loved Alda. Yes, the roots are in M*A*S*H. So far, he’s a hero character from my youth who has not disappointed me. It’s not as though I’ve expected all those idols of my younger days to be better than human. I’m just relieved that Alda seems to actually be who he comes off as. Warm, intelligent, witty, and thoughtful versus some vulgar, abusive, common trump, Gaiman, Kegseth, Gaetz or Brainworm Boy type.

So, interesting interview and it inspires me to revisit the 1981 version of The Four Seasons as well as the new Tina Fey teevee series based on it.

Also, he has a podcast now called Clear+Vivid with Alan Alda. Something about connecting and communicating with interesting guests.  Obvs I need to find a way to access these. Do podcasts have transcripts or closed captioning?

Hi, I’m Donna and I’m TOTALLY old and not tech savvy in the least!

By the by, Alda’s mother was eventually diagnosed with schizophrenia.

It’s Alright, Ma

At so many points yesterday different lines from Dylan’s song It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding) rang in my head like a gong.

The first one:

Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fool’s gold mouthpiece the hollow horn
Plays wasted words, proves to warn
That he not busy being born is busy dying

This in a sort of arch, maybe darkly humorous way. Ya know, I best get my fat arse outta bed and get busy being born (AKA doing the physical therapy exercises that keep me semi-mobile).

Temptation’s page flies out the door
…
So don’t fear if you hear
A foreign sound to your ear
It’s alright, Ma, I’m only sighing

That’s me – the last sigh (and groan) before getting up, putting on my sweats, resigning myself to Exercise Land.

Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their mark
Make everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It’s easy to see without looking too far
That not much is really sacred

Dylan wrote this in 1965. That’s 60, count ‘em, 60 motherfucking years ago and NOTHING has changed. Things have only gotten worse.

But even the president of the United States
Sometimes must have to stand naked

Maybe but will that ever matter? Will he ever be held responsible for his crimes against humanity? I doubt it. Will any of his asskissing minions – Rubio? Bondi? Bessent? Kegseth? Lutnick? Noem? McMahon? Gabbard? Zeldin? Vought? 

Them? Maybe.

An’ though the rules of the road have been lodged
It’s only people’s games that you got to dodge
And it’s alright, Ma, I can make it

If the Fascists (AKA Republicans) succeed in dismantling Medicare and Social Security, there’s an excellent chance my life will be FAR shorter than it would be otherwise. I’m still alive, ranting, and moving right now thanks to the wonders of chemistry (and my perennial pigheadedness). Chemistry ain’t cheap though, especially when you buy in bulk.

Speaking of a shortened life – you’ll never guess who showed up on my doorstep again yesterday. The Jesus peddlers, the Jehovah’s Witnesses. These ASL fluent JWs stopped by a couple times before. I made it clear right from the get-go that I was NOT interested in their religion BUT I enjoyed the ASL practice.

THAT was a mistake – they viewed it as a opening. The second (or third) time they dropped by was nine years ago, right after The Amazing Bob died (no, they were unaware). I told them it was a bad time, I wasn’t up for company as I’d just lost TAB. These carnivorous fucking social reprobates heard that and went in for the conversion kill. Lemme just tell you folks, there is NO better way to lift me out of depression than to make me angry. Boyhowdy mes amis, come after me like I’m some low rent carnival mark and, babies, you’re gonna reap that whirlwind. Bet. I will NOT be victimized.

Yep, the twats skedaddled and didn’t return. Until yesterday – nine years later. I was on the elliptical (which is by the front door) when Ten answered the doorbell. They said, apparently, that they’d come to see me. I didn’t recognize them and didn’t invite them in – safety first – don’t bring strangers into your home. I was beginning to get a sense of who and what they might be as they began signing. It came back to me that the clueless faccia di culo on the left was the one I’d deservedly berated off my porch almost a decade ago.

What did I do this time? As I slowly got off my elliptical and looked them over, trying to understand what the fuck was going on, I started playing up the tired, deaf, old, lame broad shtick. “Ooooh, Ten honey, I can’t stand” (which was actually true as I’d just finished a 30 minute workout). He wheeled over my rollator like a mobile throne. Once seated, I turned to the woman I more or less recognized (but refused to acknowledge) and asked in a pleasant but all business tone, “so, who are you and what can I do for you?” Ten had brought out my tablet on which the voice to text app Live Transcribe is always running BUT it didn’t pick up either woman’s voice. I choose to believe this was the machine’s conscious choice. This, plus chatter between the women and between the women and Ten went on for a few minutes before the women basically said, I believe, nevermind and vamoosed.

You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear

I could have been more direct and ferocious when she said “remember” (one of the few words I lipread). Yeah, I remember your swinish attempt to take advantage of me while I was in the very heart of grief over my husband’s death. I remember your empathy devoid conversion effort. Tell me, do you get paid for each new recruit? I’m an atheist now, hon – that’s the harvest you’ve sown. (okay, that’s just dramatic flourish. I’d be an atheist/agnostic anyway)

Why didn’t I? Eh, I didn’t immediately recognize them and it was more fun to toy with her slowly — watch their faces, obviously uncomfortable and embarrassed, as they hurried away. Asshole? Who me? I like me!

Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to

My experience with the god bothers yesterday was a small thing. What we’re facing as a nation is huge. The lessons, for me, are the same,

And if my thought-dreams could be seen
They’d probably put my head in a guillotine
But it’s alright, Ma, it’s life, and life only

Love, Death + Cats

We, the Valhalla crew, binge-watched John Scalzi’s Love Death + Robots offerings yesterday. Oh my magnificent Medusa these are awesome+++! Mind you, we’d seen four of them before but they are totally fresh the second time around. In fact, I want to see them all again NOW!

• Three Robots (Season 1, Episode 1)
• When the Yogurt Took Over (Season 1, Episode 6)
• Alternate Histories (Season 2, Episode 5)
• Three Robots: Exit Strategies (Season 3, Episode 1)
• The Other Large Thing (Season 4, Episode 5)
• Smart Appliances, Stupid Owners (Season 4, Episode 9)

My favorites? This morning they’re Three Robots: Exit Strategies and The Other Large Thing. Scalzi knows that cats will take over the world one day. It’s a sure thing they’ll be better caretakers of the planet than humans. Hells bells, a dead rat would do a better job.
~~~
I’ve been a vegetarian for a lot of years now. Weirdly, despite the fact that meat grosses me way the fuck out, curious cravings occasionally ambush me. Yesterday fer instance.

Me (texting Jen): WHY do I all of a sudden have a stone need for a steak and cheese sub with pepper jack cheese, onions and jalapeños?!!!

   I ask you?!!! I mean, FFS!

Jen: Hah!!! Oni says it’s because they’re good !

Me: 😖

Me: Next thing ya know I’ll be wanting an IPA or 6 and will be trolling for one night stands.

   What am I? 19 again?

   Christ almighty!

Yeah, I didn’t indulge that yearning (which would have done a real number on my poor flesh and fowl eschewing digestive tract anyway).
~~~
I follow a few Ukrainians on Threads. This morning one posted that a Russian bomber, that had been on its way to bomb them (in Kyiv?), was shot down by Russian air defense last night.

How very trumpian. Is the “criminally incompetent” Pete Kegseth moonlighting for the Russian military now? Is he authoring their attack strategies? Has he texted the bombing plans on hacktastic Facebook Messenger yet? Did he include journos from WAPO and Fox not-really-the-news on the group chat? Maybe Putin’s having Monty Python or Stanley Kubrick write his scripts now?

Whatever – keep it up dude, you're aces!
~~~
I know I said I felt really good yesterday. I was so pleased with myself that, not only had I bounced back from a bad, weak-ass, what-the-fuck’s-up-with-this-wonk-ass-body patch, but I had increased BOTH my PT exercising AND my daily time on the elliptical. YIPPEE! Well, I crashed. All I could manage yesterday was acts of hygiene, getting dressed, and walking next door for teevee time. So, this week all I did was just four out of seven days versus five.

S’ok…

It’s all right, it’s all right
You can’t be forever blessed
Still, tomorrow’s going to be another working day
And I’m trying to get some rest
That’s all I’m trying to get some rest
American Tune – Paul Simon 

I'll get back up on the exercise horse today.

I Feel Good

The sun seems to be fighting to come out. Is this really New England in spring? Shouldn’t we be experiencing endless rain and wind? If this keeps up I may actually have to stop doomscrolling and go out for a damn walk. Leave the house? OH NO!!!!!!
~~~
In upcoming, possibly happy news – after more than two months, Ten and I might get Godzilla, our mighty electric MINI, back this week. It looks like the parts have finally arrived from Germany (delayed due to Trumps idiot, weasel shit tariff games). We’ll probably have to sell off Ten’s first born (since I carelessly neglected to reproduce) to get the damn car out of the shop but //shrugs// them’s the breaks when you live in a kakistocratic dictatorship, eh?
~~~
IF reincarnation is a thing, I’m totally coming back as a rich person. Why? I think having Nf2, amongst other things, is penance enough for my past sinful lives. I don’t think I could have been anywhere near as bad as either of the rotted garbage brained, syphilitic skinned, terminally warped, common trumps and musks. After all, there are people who, strange as this may sound, genuinely love me. The same definitely can’t be said for those two.

Getting back to my point though – in my next life (if there is one) I will have the buckos left over (after feeding, clothing, nurturing the poor and sick…of fucking course) to open a car museum. In it will be three of my favorites. The ‘68 Ford Mustang GT Fastback. A ’79 cherry red Citroën 2CV Sedan. A ’64 orange Karmann Ghia.
~~~
I can’t make out who the creator of this image is but it reminds me of some of Bill Plympton’s work. DAMN I miss seeing his stuff.

~~~
Have you seen the news reports about the former Australian cop, Nikki Saroukos, who was jailed, treated horrifically, and then deported when she went to visit her husband, an American Army officer (stationed in Hawaii)? She had done NOTHING wrong! We can thank President Hatemonger, Stephen Nazi Miller, Tom Inhuman Homan, Todd Bring-On-The-Cattle-Cars Lyons, and Cosplay Kristie for this. America – we’re just a shit hole where the government is doing all it can to kill off its citizens and those brave (or stupid) enough to visit.
~~~

It appears that I’ve become a total Jessie Duquette stan. Yes, if you ever see me live and in person (doubtful – I rarely leave the house nowadays. Oh wait, if you frequent Mass General, well, hit me up, mes amis!) I’ll undoubtedly be wearing one of Duquette's shirts.
~~~
While the weather here in Valhalla has been, prior to today, too shitty for me to risk taking my fragile self out for a good, weight bearing PT walk, I HAVE gotten a lot of recumbent elliptical time in. I’ve recently hit the 30 minute mark which is HUGE! In fact. I am now able to consistently do 30 minutes of heart happy-making cardio shit AND, later, two sets of six PT exercises. Fucking, YEA me!

I may never walk without my rollator again (we’ll see. I’m not throwing in the towel on this dream) BUT I am getting better.

Yes, OF COURSE I have James Brown in my head right no. I Feel Good!

Bat Outta Hell

A friend of mine – I’m NOT sayin’ who – got into a wee fender bender yesterday. Everyone’s fine – no airbags were even deployed. What made this notable were the throwbacks in the other vehicle.

My friend drives an SUV something or other. The other driver was in one of those jacked up, pimped out, four door pickup trucks with a rarely used pristine cargo bed. Yep, a total MAGAt egomobile.

My friend was pulling out of a Dunkin’ parking lot near an intersection when this trump truck screams around the corner like he’s Lieutenant Frank Bullitt being chased by hitmen through the streets of San Francisco. But no. They’re in some South Shore suburb of Boston and dudebro’s driving an oversized blobby white wankpanzer, not a highland green ‘68 Ford Mustang GT Fastback.

My mystery pal had absolutely NO time to stop. One second there was no traffic and she was clear to enter the roadway – next minute NASCAR Neddy’s directly in her path.

💥 BAM 💥

Immediately the, presumable, girlfriend jumps down out of the passenger seat and runs over screaming and berating my friend. NOT asking if she, in the MUCH smaller vehicle, is okay but getting all aggro up in her face.

Bitcholini’s in her mid-40s or thereabouts, dressed like it's the early ‘80s and she's on her way to a New Kids on the Block or a Backstreet Boys concert. We were having a goddamn nor’easter yesterday and she’s decked out in skinny jeans, a spaghetti strapped tank top under a poofy jacket, cropped right under her boobage. She’s sporting wide bleach blonde streaks in her teased, sculpted and sprayed hair. Her and her intense botheration made an...impression.

Next, boyfriend climbs down out of his dick replacement, sees the driver, my chum, is a woman and swaggers over like the tough guy he’s SO not. Not only does he NOT say hello or ask her if she’s alright (and obvs he’s just fine), he pulls a dick move – barks “license and registration” at her like he's some I-got-no-time-for-this-shit harried cop.

Now, the reason my friend was away from work in the middle of the day was because she was driving her husband to pick up his car which had been in the shop for routine maintenance. She’d just dropped him off and called him to let him know about the accident. He zoomed right over.

As soon as friend’s man shows up, Mullet Boy drops the bad, wooden, asshole officer act and starts acting almost human. He stashes his obvs tweaker girlfriend back in the truck while he schmoozes with the other penis owner (versus the person he was in an accident with) until the cops arrive.

When the cops get there the ultra sus ‘80s throwback immediately goes into a whole thing of telling the cops that “This is cut and dry. Black and white.” He then starts pissing and whining about how he JUST bought the wankpanzer and just look at all the damage (a small dent over a rear wheel well – fucking crybaby). BIG victim act. Meanwhile, my friend lost her bumper entirely. (also, her car is new this year as well.)

With the cops present, the creepy white trash stayed in their MAGAt-mobile. Why all of a sudden were they playing it low key? Could there possibly be two pounds of crystal in the glove box and maybe a few unregistered guns under the back seat. It might be inconvenient if the po-po found those when Twatzilla really needs her speedball now!

Maybe NASCAR Ned and Tweaker Tina were speeding around in the middle of an ultra stormy, cold weekday because they had a hot drug delivery to make. There was a major bust of 16 fentanyl and coke dealers in their area last month. I imagine the toxic duo are working overtime to meet the uptick in biz. Just being caring business people, eh?