"You make me feel like dancing." An interlude and lecture from the unwed mother's dance symposium.

Dylan Thomas wrote that a person should not "go gently into that milquetoast precedence's ass."  Indeed, in my days, I marvelled not that W sat a full 8 inches taller in the saddle because I had both a Gateway and a Systemax wedged ungently in his buttocks.

During the obligatory Democratic response, Tom Daschell sat a bit taller, of which the pundits thought he might have looked, without the smell of cat piss and his World War II library, more than a bit Presidential.

We know what that means, a man of no consequence and less report: such is the sort that sit on the tips of tongues, and an old man can be a lame duck and not realize it, not want to admit it even to himself.

*I'll slap the coldmoor fuck out of anyone that disrespects Jimmy Johnson.

My great Grandpa and his wife.

And his children.

Once walked nearly ten miles one-way to eat a dinner of beans, then maybe pick wild fruits from the roadside.

They had a silver dollar they carried around in pocket until it was well-worn, and worth less than other more "Near Mint" examples, and truth be told, at the time, it was a gift, a right of passage, the encroachment into adult hood, the voter base, and marriage, that this was at once, their life savings.

At a time when the five-person family lived on less than 50 dollars a year.  A roof over their head?  A sharecropper's cabin built as an afterthought.  A vanity gun?  No, unless he wanted to do some hunting.  I say not that so many now are soft and also bitchy, but they are, and I am, being a product of the system, but having that garden-inherited bit of Adamic nature, too, and maybe a part not unlike the animals.

Gravy Toss: the tip of the tongue, toast of the town, for good or ill, that AOC Jesse James Robin Hood mojo that kind of wants certain people to get something took away from them, redistributed, but then you know, that's not right either, to just eat someone else's lunch.

This too, under the sun, is an evil, and our thrashing, like so much wind, Cheevers.

So much it was, to hold that ancestral silver dollar in the pocket, and be at once, heralded, almost like the tether on that Systemax up W's ass.

The grass roots say Covid is distributed by the sky.

That ain't where I caught it though.

A certain awkward fellow, the KFC at the bridge, he poops thereabouts.  He was the instrument of service, and the object of issue that put the butt in the seat and the ungentle little knook of the President's ivory asshole is not the thing, or the order to do, the, uh, proof of function, or Sean Hannity's text messages on the news.

Them liberal journalists forget about the precious Afghan schoolgirls they were wining over last year?

I can't even look sometimes, but to manage to look away and get some fresh air, away from that mainstream narrative, like a vaccinated person could get germs on the skin and nasal passages, not be infected, but transmit the germ airborne, wherever the fully-vaxxed person goes, as long as the virus remains active, just like an infected stairway hand-hold.

Just like the odd anonymous shell scripts that used to run on my Windows 10 machine.

*Toss my salad, Joe.

It ain't no Ukraine, or no Russian, that ever called me a Mexican.  Food for thought, Cheevers.  The real concerns are much closer to home, and involve not the blocking of pipelines, but lines of clarity and commonsense.  We've tried to call their attention to kitchen table issues, with people like Secretary Granholm out chasing windmills, flatfooted in the face of real concerns, quixotically toying with ideas that are decades away, to the detriment of real people today.

*Sit and spin, Jennifer.

*They say Covid comes from the sky. WTF?!?!

There is "natural" like conforming to nature, and social, like conforming to a multitude.  Could we balance?  I read of people shopping for the balancer, who already had the dancing pad and the VR goggles.

"It accepts my motion commands."

*When I jack-off in front of the X-Box, it downloads random stuff.

*W may have had my old Systemax surgically removed from his anus.

There was a famous documentarian who called me an Irishman, and I wondered you know, of his merit of publication, his "raison d'etre", his own appraisal of his own weird varieties of heritage, claiming only one background, but having myriad threads in his family tree, of which he ignored.

*It was enticing AF when Kelly Anne took her shoes off sitting on the coach at the White House.

Do we say nature of the world about or nature of the cause of man, or try to intermingle the too?  Do we live a delusion of bicycle generators?  Do I say that I have an inheritance from the garden?

I wrote most of an album of music in two hours.  Actual music, like sounds and stuff, from real instruments, evoking styles varied.

I changed the old Leo Sayer hit, "You Make Feel Like Dancing", into "You Make Me Feel Like Danzig."

There was a time, playing cars at the end of the driveway under the swingset, when we were all so innocently stupid, and repenting of infinite nothings.  We didn't ban people we disagreed with, we didn't take our ball and go home, but we, even dumb as we were, tried to speak some sense, instead of trying to invoke some politically-minded soft-censorship of disagreeing sources.

Truth be told, it isn't human nature for everyone to agree, even if there is the old statistic of a minimum 10,000 people thinking the exact same thing at any given second.

That way, the make-up sex is better, maybe.