Reflecting on the string of global tragedies — my head is filled with fears of Armageddon

Tipping tragedy’s global scales

Armageddon. Excuse me if — for just today — I bypass tinsel, gifts, Santa, elves, chimneys, feasts, joy, carols.

My head is filled with fears: an American college, an Australian beach, California murders, Israel, Ukraine, Gaza, Russia, Iran, Syria, Venezuela.

Of Armageddon the Holy Scriptures say in Rev. 16:16: “And he gathered them together into a place called in the Hebrew tongue Armageddon.” Ensuing passages tell of voices, thunders and earthquakes “such as was not since men were upon the earth.” The chapter stops at “the plague thereof was exceeding great.”

Elsewhere, in a compilation on Easter services, was: “The hour is come. The great battle of Armageddon is upon us. The powers of evil are leagued together in secret conspiracy.”

Webster’s Comprehensive Dictionary says: “The scene of the final conflict of nations . . . a conflict between good and evil.” American College Dictionary: “Where the final battle will be fought between the forces of good and evil . . . great crucial armed conflict.”

Simple law-abiding people ask one another: Is this it? Can this be the end?

To lighten my dark thoughts — I now thank Francine LeFrak, Bill O’Reilly, contractor Aidan McCormack, Andrew Saffir, Robert Zimmerman, Keith Poole, Virginia Harris, Joanna Mastroianni, Boris Kleyman for their goodies.

Cost of modernity

It has occurred to me that not all the wise men are in Congress. It has also occurred to me that back in our earlier depression — like the ’30s — it was easier to feed guests. Cheaper anyway.

IRT was a nickel. Staten Island Ferry both ways a dime. Statue of Liberty trip 35 cents. Puppet show — a quarter. Rolls Royce with chauffeur in livery — $3 per hour. An extra: Like him opening an umbrella or anything else — might tack on a fiver. If it somehow became a 2-for-1, maybe spring for another fin.

But something’s going on with today’s females. They’re hot with or without radiators. One nice-looking professional in her early 40s — married but not insanely thrilled — has a child. Not wildly motherly, she does not want a divorce. She just wants sex. Says so. Tells her friends so. That’s why today’s dresses end at blouse level and the former blouse level is now at the crotch level.

Gents are now into handbags, earrings, necklaces, rings, curls, skirts, untucked shirts? What’s next — Miss Santa in a tutu? Might be now an answer to why Santa’s face is always red.

And men already use our body cream, face cream, hand cream, hair spray, hair lacquer, colorless nail polish, colorist, electrolysist and Botox person. Wait. We’ll soon see them rushing for girdles and wiglets.

Remember to feed the soul

Meanwhile, I bless all of you. I want to thank you who read this, who don’t send me letters that start “Dear Stupid.” I have gone on visits bringing food to the elderly. I know what it’s like for seniors to live by themselves. Having nobody. No resources. Being alone. Scared. I remind all who have the elderly in their lives. Think of them. Pay attention. Call on them. Wish them happiness in the holiday. Do for them. Help them. Bring them something. Look out for them.

And remember the famous last words of Mergetroid Crumblestanislouspartinsky who said: “It’s never too late. Instead of giving up — just give in.”

Talk again to you tomorrow. Meanwhile, love and a happy holiday to you all.