English isn’t made for rhyming compared to Spanish, French or Arabic. Alliteration was its strong suit of old. My title flaunts it with a homophone. It also goes to town on sibilants, which is icing on the cake. That’s a metaphor.

My fellow Americans, a veritable warlock’s brew of billingsgate and contumely is fermenting in our musky juices. I’m sure I didn’t dream it — surely? — but read somewhere that the land’s unelected executive co-pilot tooted on his social medium that persons opposing some view of his should go “fuck their faces.” How do you even?

From my favorite tech podcast helmed by The New York Times’s Kevin Roose and Platformer’s Casey Newton, I learned that Butthole Coin is a real memecoin, marketed on pump.fund as “The Foundation of Flatulent Finance.” Its market cap at the time of Kevin and Casey’s broadcast was $40 million. Pump-and-dump schemes are thriving, and nowhere more than in the precincts of the poobahs.

On my country-western radio station a song’s hook was “Don’t drive your truck when you’re all tanked up!” I’ve got to track down the female artist, because I love her saucy ditty. While a train kept me stalled at the railroad crossing, a snatch from another song said something like, “I want to wake up with you in the back of my truck and start all over again.” A man’s pickup truck is the vehicle of romance in this part of the country. The “bed” of a truck is a metaphor in its own right. It’s where an F-150 mates with its load.

An ad on Hardfork spoke of Source Code, the title of Bill Gates’s new book about his “origin story.” “It’s not about Microsoft, the Gates Foundation or Technology,” says the ad.  That’s a daring publishing move: Title a book with a term of art from the domain which made its subject famous, in order to have to assert that the book is not about that! Here’s the title I would give to a memoir by the graying eminence of Redmond: My Voice Never Changed.

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