Every morning me and about a million other people take 15 minutes out of their day to play Wordle, a simple little guessing game. It’s ad free, just tough enough to make you feel smart when you get the answer, and just easy enough that you don’t get frustrated trying to win. It’s a small joy during a time when those are mighty thin on the ground.
And like, look, good on the guy who invented it for getting his pay day. He brought happiness to millions of us and I genuinely hope he enjoys his newfound wealth. It’s just… now the game’s probably going to be stuck behind a paywall and I won’t be able to play it anymore, and that makes me cranky.
At any rate, the news:
On the first day of Black History Month, at least 14 historically Black colleges and universities (HBCUs) reported receiving bomb threats. I guess we should just count ourselves lucky that – so far – there were no actual bombs.
This dude is so close to getting it. Wealth hording is obscene. Like, look. If you work hard and make an absolutely inconceivable amount of money, you should be able to enjoy it. I’m just insisting you pay your fair share. This article says this guy pays a tax rate of 34%, I think, which, 1) I’m dubious he’s actually paying any taxes, billionaires have a million ways to get out of paying; and 2) It should be a minimum of 50%. Fifty percent of one billion dollars is more money than any person can sensibly spend in a lifetime.
More than 2,500 people a day are still dying of this disease. Nasty new variants are percolating even as I type. We still can’t convince about 30% of the population to get their vaccines. We’re barely even doing anything to fight this pandemic as it is. And these yahoos want to get back to “normal.”
Yet more evidence that Trump was personally involved in attempting to subvert the 2020 elections. It sure would be nice if he faced some actual consequences for his crimes.
I hope Joe Manchin gets a popcorn shell jammed up under his gums every time he eats popcorn for the rest of his life. I hope his favorite food suddenly starts making him painfully gassy every time he eats it. I hope he gives himself a paper cut on a regular basis, timed so that just as one heals, he gets another. I hope is house is forever just a little too cold or a little too warm. I hope his favorite TV show gets canceled without warning and ends on a cliffhanger that will never be resolved. I hope his boat springs a leak. I wish upon Joe Manchin a long, long life of minor annoyances and small miseries.