With the libertarian roof job all but done, I had planned to spend the afternoon playing in the reloading shack -- maybe cooking up a new .45 ACP load l've been thinking about.
Still up on the rooftop, on my way to the ladder, I casually wiggled the chimney. It wiggled a little too much. With a good heave-ho, it wiggled right in two.
Already the materials are laid out for what could be a complete replacement from the stove on up. I am unhappy. I am not going to start right away. I am going to lie down and read a book and pout myself into a nap.
Jun 6, 2012
Jun 5, 2012
Hello, fellow liberterroristists
Jiggety-jig after a four-day sortie to the bluffs overlooking the Illinois SSR, including a three-hour reconnaissance, trans-Mississippi, behind enemy lines, on Obamastan's western flank. We patrolled unarmed in hopes that, if captured, we could sell the story that we were innocently attending a ceremonial occasion marking the bestowal of of high school diplomas. (The Iowa high school chose the slave state venue for reasons not volunteered to the undersigned.)
I hereby report that the graduates themselves seemed unobjectionable, but certain of the attending families call into question the usefulness of public education; for that matter, any education at all. If these mommies and daddies are any guide, their sons and daughters will, by now, have spent the bulk of their graduation gift cash on neck tattoos and whoopee cushions.
Upon reporting back to Camp J, the undersigned declined for some 20 hours to power up any, repeat any, telescreen or cumpuscreen, so I don't know what the Hell is going on in the world lately. Frankly, I'm not too anxious for you to tell me as I concentrate on the subversive task at hand -- repairing a roof leak without the sanction of a zoning variation which would permit me to apply for a building permit which would, in turn, grant me permission to staunch thr drip which is, quite inconveniently, directly above my bed pillow.
(s)
T. Undersigned
I hereby report that the graduates themselves seemed unobjectionable, but certain of the attending families call into question the usefulness of public education; for that matter, any education at all. If these mommies and daddies are any guide, their sons and daughters will, by now, have spent the bulk of their graduation gift cash on neck tattoos and whoopee cushions.
Upon reporting back to Camp J, the undersigned declined for some 20 hours to power up any, repeat any, telescreen or cumpuscreen, so I don't know what the Hell is going on in the world lately. Frankly, I'm not too anxious for you to tell me as I concentrate on the subversive task at hand -- repairing a roof leak without the sanction of a zoning variation which would permit me to apply for a building permit which would, in turn, grant me permission to staunch thr drip which is, quite inconveniently, directly above my bed pillow.
(s)
T. Undersigned
Jun 1, 2012
...and here's to a wholesome June
However, if you had it with wholesome, you can always cry havoc and let something slip.
And then there's Junebug, Travis McGee's disco champion buddy. Wonder what ever happened to her?
Me and Elizabeth Warren
Liz and I don't have much in common, but we've each been caught lying about our proud American Indian ancestry.
In my case the embarrassment was minimal even though it was compounded by claiming another bogus kinship.
When I was wee, the adults in my clan would remark about our descent from Daniel Boone and the strain of Cherokee in our blood. I accepted it as gospel and bragged of it as we played cowboys and Indians on the Des Moines River bluffs.
Years later I learned the myth was understandable, but phony. We had a very weak relationship to Dan'l's wife, Rebecca Bryan, but barring some seriously immoral hankie-pankie in them thar Appalachian hills, his DNA flowed down a different crick.
And an18th Century liaison contributed a drop of Indian blood -- maybe Cherokee -- only to a branch that an uncle or cousin or something married into.
I learned to live with shame of mere Irishness (polluted with a contribution here and there of some northern European strains). Anyway, I never planned to capitalize on my Indianity to help me capture the U.S. Senate seat belonging by divine right to the Kennedys of Massachusetts or their acolytes.
Not so for poor Ms. Warren, one of President Obama's favorite Regulators and a member of the Harvard faculty and governing class. It seems that when she applied to be a Harvard teacher the university was anxious to hawk a diverse faculty. Liz went along with the gag. "Me diverse. Heap Injun."
That turned out to be heap fib, and she got caught. Worse for her, she ducked and dodged like Bill (I never touched that woman) Clinton, and turned a small problem into a big one. It may or may not be enough to help keep the less-objectionable Scott Brown in the Kennedy seat.
We can only hope.
In my case the embarrassment was minimal even though it was compounded by claiming another bogus kinship.
When I was wee, the adults in my clan would remark about our descent from Daniel Boone and the strain of Cherokee in our blood. I accepted it as gospel and bragged of it as we played cowboys and Indians on the Des Moines River bluffs.
Years later I learned the myth was understandable, but phony. We had a very weak relationship to Dan'l's wife, Rebecca Bryan, but barring some seriously immoral hankie-pankie in them thar Appalachian hills, his DNA flowed down a different crick.
And an18th Century liaison contributed a drop of Indian blood -- maybe Cherokee -- only to a branch that an uncle or cousin or something married into.
I learned to live with shame of mere Irishness (polluted with a contribution here and there of some northern European strains). Anyway, I never planned to capitalize on my Indianity to help me capture the U.S. Senate seat belonging by divine right to the Kennedys of Massachusetts or their acolytes.
Not so for poor Ms. Warren, one of President Obama's favorite Regulators and a member of the Harvard faculty and governing class. It seems that when she applied to be a Harvard teacher the university was anxious to hawk a diverse faculty. Liz went along with the gag. "Me diverse. Heap Injun."
That turned out to be heap fib, and she got caught. Worse for her, she ducked and dodged like Bill (I never touched that woman) Clinton, and turned a small problem into a big one. It may or may not be enough to help keep the less-objectionable Scott Brown in the Kennedy seat.
We can only hope.
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