More love from the religion of peace.

“Famous musicians shouldn’t grow old.” I’m not sure the younger (1974) is so much better than the older (2008). Stephen King once wrote of a character singing “with a voice that could melt screws.” I think we’ve found him, if you can call that “singing.” On the other hand, here’s a famous musician who got old: hear him in 1957, 1969, about (I’m guessing) 1985–90, and in 2009 — at 100 years old. I guess it all depends on what you call music.

Oh, Benny. This is so ironic you wouldn’t want to leave it out in the rain . . . you know, because it would rust.

Conclusive proof we elected the wrong man: our President drinks light beer.

And finally, possibly the worst joke I will ever tell. This is no exaggeration. It is utterly horrible, but it’s also so much my style that I can’t resist. The worst part is that it’s original; it just popped into my head the other day. It’s really only funny in the perverse way of bad puns and the twisted minds that love them. So you have my sincere apologies in advance. Prepare the tomatoes.

David, son of Jesse, King of Israel, walks into a bar . . .

Yep, clichéd lead-in and all. Sorry.

. . . has drink, shares casual banter with the bartender, etc., and leaves. Spends the afternoon writing several Psalms, plays Harp Hero with one of the boys. Wanders back to the bar later that evening.

The bartender says to himself, “Wow, man. Dave à Jew.”