Louie Gohmert (R-TX) is a moron, a pussy and a coward. Forgive me if I sound mean, but I will elucidate.

SATURDAY, 11:45 P.M., 6/30/2018. Hi-de-ho, everybody … it’s a hot and sticky Saturday night, and Sam and I are enjoying one of our favorite go-to action movies, The Taking of Pelham One Two Three, the original from 1974 starring Walter Matthau and Robert Shaw. We always love this movie. ALWAYS! Sam is curled up on the sofa and I’m on the chaise with a Popsicle. For the record, I’m seriously under the weather tonight. I haven’t had a repeat of that problem from yesterday when I couldn’t swallow any food, thank God, but my issues tonight are actually just as bad.

As much as I enjoy “bath time,” Sam and I are putting my hospice through the wringer right now.

It’s Friday morning, 9:15 a.m., and it’s Sam’s birthday! To celebrate, he’s in the study making phone calls (we’re attempting to change electric providers) and I’m on the chaise lounge in the family room eating a couple of Popsicles and watching Funny Girl (1965) starring Barbra Streisand. I’m also waiting for my hospice C.N.A. to come over at 10 for my final professional bath of the week. She does a very good job — every Monday, Wednesday and Friday — and I look very clean and shiny afterwards except for the spots that she dusts with Nystatin powder. She also covers my shins and feet with AmLactin cream because otherwise I’ll look like an alligator.

If you dislike descriptive prose about bowel movements, please feel free to skip the following paragraph.

I’ve had quite a day so far, dear readers. It’s currently 2:25 p.m., Sam is conked out on the sofa and I’m watching the original Ghostbusters (1984) starring Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd and Sigourney Weaver. (It’s almost over. The Stay-Puft marshmallow man just blew up.) We’re enjoying a one-month free trial from Netflix. Yee-haw.

Incidentally, if you dislike descriptive prose about bowel movements please feel free to skip the following paragraph.

Catheter Day was a fabulous success. Thank you for putting up with me.

We’ve got another blistering-hot summer day in Texas. My hospice C.N.A. was here a few minutes ago — it’s bathing and hygiene day at Howdygram headquarters — and she said the forecast calls for a high of 105° today. HOLY CRAP. That’s considered extremely hot for Texas … especially since it’s only June and we still have several months of summer weather ahead of us. And I’m even including September, which is usually just as hot as August!

Guess who’s getting a new catheter on Thursday.

Shalom, yo and howdy-do from Howdygram headquarters. This will most likely be a brief post, owin’ to the fact that I haven’t got a whole lot to say. And also because Sam has been withdrawn and non-communicative for most of the day and evening. He’s actually scaring me a little, to tell you the truth. I know most of his mood is based on America’s terrifying new immigration nightmare ... and quite honestly, I’m feeling the emotional strain, too.

Whether you’re planning a big backyard hoo-hah or just a remembrance, Happy Father’s Day.

It’s Father’s Day today, and although all of you are probably planning something unique to celebrate this holiday with your dad, mine will simply involve remembering, because my dad (Herbie) passed away in July 2002. That’s already 16 years ago! (Oy.) And my sweet father-in-law, Ben, died in 2009.

Lock him up! Paul Manafort goes to jail.

Happy Friday, boys and girls! It’s not quite 7 a.m. and I’m wide awake on my chaise in the family room, typing like a bat out of hell and sipping a sugar-free Clear American black cherry soda. (I love this stuff.) Sam just departed for his morning walk and will probably be gone about two hours. (He always walks before the day starts to “heat up.” The high today will be 94°.)

Let’s all go to Baku, the garden spot of Azerbaijan!

Hello from Howdygram headquarters! I slept late this morning, and now I’m hanging out in the family room with my MacBook laptop ... pondering lunch. I don’t have much of an appetite, to tell you the truth, so I probably shouldn’t eat anything heavy. Maybe just Kraft’s high-class pimiento cheese shmeared on crackers with a plastic knife plus a side order of Mt. Olive sweet corn relish. (And napkins.)

I don’t want to write about poo.

Hello, people. It’s 12 noon and I’m writing to you from the comfort of my chaise lounge in the family room. I wanted to begin by telling you I was constipated for the last two weeks, however that’s not true any more as of 6:30 this morning and I’m feeling fine. So fuck it and let’s move on. (I don’t want to write about poo.)

Ruby Keeler danced like a flailing Clydesdale. And she couldn’t sing, either.

Good Thursday evening, boys and girls! It’s 7:10 p.m. and pitch black outside with plenty of loud thunder due to a line of big storms rumbling south from McKinney and Plano. While I’d love to post the storm map from Weather.com I can’t access the damn thing with my MacBook laptop because the browser is too old. So no map!

Assorted hoo-hahs for Monday … and I finally got my extra extended release Morphine!

Happy Monday afternoon, people. I just finished a late lunch, I’m sipping a nice tall glass of Sparkling Ice Pomegranate Blueberry soda, Sam is asleep on the sofa and I’m watching Fast and Loose (1939) starring Robert Montgomery and Rosalind Russell. This is actually another rip-off of The Thin Man ... a husband-and-wife team of rare book dealers who occasionally solve crimes and get into jams with mobsters and/or the cops. It’s fun and fluffy but not especially compelling because nobody compares to Nick and Nora Charles.

Any theories about what happened to Melania Trump?

Happy Saturday morning, boys and girls. I had my first real test last night with hospice protocol when we began monitoring a wild “temperature swing” that started around 5 p.m. For absolutely no reason whatsoever my body temperature dropped from 97.2° (normal for me) to 95° about an hour later, and then jumped up four degrees to 99° by 9 p.m. I was feeling extremely lousy! But while the temperature hoo-hah definitely wasn’t a good sign — all of our calls to 911 begin with that symptom! — there were four pluses to consider as well: 1) I did NOT have the chills; 2) I was still fully conscious and talking to Sam; 3) I wasn’t pishing all over myself; and 4) there were no worries in case I couldn’t breathe because I already had oxygen here.

Morphine. Part two.

Howdy. This is my second post of the day.

Hello from Marcy’s hospice.

SATURDAY, 5/26/2018, 8:45 P.M. Hi, people. Miss me yesterday? I didn’t have an opportunity to write a Howdygram post due to 20 hours of NONSTOP NAUSEA that began shortly before sun-up and finally ended at 1 a.m. this morning, which is the same time that Sam finally went home to get some sleep. (He refused to leave me while I was writhing in misery. That sweet saint!) The nurses gave me four intravenous doses of an anti-nausea medication, one pill and a special cup of Maalox that’s supposed to make you belch. It tasted like furniture polish and made me GAG.