Futnuckery. A Helluva Vision. The Film-Flam Man. Conjugates of the Infinite.

Literally, brett said, "this decision does not ban abortion" and be damned if a room full of journalists didnt vault over themselves to publish the headline, "supreme court bans abortion". I mean clearly, and ive had a political science course in my past, i agree when they say it seemed more the work of legislators than guardians of the constituion.  I mean, they decided in roe v wade, where legally recognized life begins, during the thrid trimester.  Weird. Sotomayor, the lady who had never been a judge in any form before her appointment to the court, said at conception a woman has "no rights".  Seems a statement clesrly engineered for fundraising letters, and a gross exageration of actuality. As one commentator pointed out, one of the yays was a nixon appointee, conversely, a commentator from the opposite stripe noted one of the published assenting opinions was the work of "the stupidest supreme court justice of the 20th century." Clearly hyper

Recent events, i think of nehemiah during the babylonian captivity, whic to some is a disguised reference to obama and kerrys iran deal.  Anyway, dude askididded nehemiah of his sorrow, its heartwood, and nehemiah referred to the downshot temple and the gates of the ci-tay burned with fire(seattle). So he was set about, with all permissions and subsidies, to right the enumerate lefts. A friend, a hard leftist speculated of the moral substance of the scotus abortion ruling.  He stated that if pregnancies were forced to carry, then there should be subsidized childcare, food and so on.  Which i compared to communism, likened to a total lack of responsibility on the parents.  And "you people", communists that is, not blacks, or gays, or grad students, or linguists, or expats, of which he is one, a wondorous one maggotfilled testicle of a hemingway novel to busy sucking pecker to transcribe itself in thought or deed to paper.  "You people" in his case, means the hard lef

Oxnards Versus Goddens.  Kickball.  None of a wit to lose with dignity, and none of them a winner among them; they one or lost the way wheat stupidly sticks up in the breeze after Independence Day, and that and nothing more, emphasizing the "stupid" more than the "sticking up". Baby Sweet was the referee, improbable full-black that he was, a refugee from a 70s film, a buddy looking for a hard-nose cop to love.  He would call the ball if it went past the still-smoking trash can, or over the bed of Darnell's truck. It was Bobcat that kicked the ball past everybody else, Bobcat the gentleman unemployed pundit of the outfit, a gentleman's gentleman, full of piss and vinegar and good lines about bad tidings--a familiar at Clyde's house, where the ball landed and sailed on, warping out of shape with spin and torque, momentum, and on across the yards. Doug was the odd man, kind of a secret agent, "inside man" that watched the world with a downcast, pe

I was sitting, buttery bottomed nekkid in a porcelain trough in Petaluma, calling it "research", tax-deductible work expense, luxury room, as part of research for my Simon & Shuster planned bestseller about haunted hotels and motels. The short hairs on the rim were part of my gratuity for the hospital staff, but not like leaving something of a sample for the sex island staff. What was that about pizza and killing babies?  Was that a Bernie fundraiser email, or a conspiracy theory? I was musing into my digital recorder, "there are no haunted rooms, only haunted people coming into the rooms", something along the lines of "leave a little of the love you bring with you", or "get a load of this"(like back at the island standing over a silver dish about to leave a little something). There was a devotchka, was what housekeeping said, and something of a body bag, and some other, black and white pictures and all, and something that made a nice paragra

   I had things to do. I don't deny that much. But between weather and all?  Not so much, as there were priorities, hydrations, speculumization or speculation on crypto currencies, a myriad of things to look in on. Making sure Levin wore a shirt and took the knife from between his teeth so he could do his monologue. But one of the brightspots, after the televised church service, the Sunday School portion, I was directed to the book of Ephesians in the Bible as a reminder of God's amazing promises to his creation. The promises were uplifting, and reading them anew salvaged the day, but still.  I slept more of the day than I was awake, on the balance, and that was okay, between things as it were, a time to get some rest.  In fact, slept so much it made my neck muscles sore. I was looking at the Roe news stuff, and so much to be made of opinions getting interjected into the mix.  "analysis" that wasn't analysis, and opinions I suppose.  Everybody has an opinion, yo

We saw her, going along, very picturesque on her pony, her "Wildfire", and our hearts for however 55mph microbeats, burned there too. "I'd like to ride with her" said Mum.  Breaking the moment, or more aptly, punctuating the moment. "You can" said Harold.  It was a thing among certain types, to buy horses, be it a tax shelter, the financial burden of rearing horses was something they took on for the sheer enjoyment of it, and now, my dear Mum. It was like Walking Dead maybe, when Glen nicked a Challenger off the street, and Rick opted for wearing his service uniform and riding a horse. Zombies et the horse, I remember, and he was called an idiot on the radio. "I bet I could, baby" said Mum. "You'd look good on one" said Harold.  I was grinning like an idiot, having seen too many lesbian sex scenes not to have my heart burn there, rather than the actual moment, it was a thing with me. "Thats sweet, baby" said Mum.

So many little smaller issues, personhood, doctor-patient privacy, aside from a woman's supposed free right to terminate a pregnancy.  Seems the msm wont stomach the fine points, but hammer a drum of mammie choice, sport-f*cking, unabashed, unashamed, naked liberalism disguised as libertarian values. For instance, illegal vape products, but legal marijuana.  Merrick garland tossing a bone to his ass-hurt colleagues, with the right to choose, despite the right to exist......

I attest further, harris, that if i set about devising a clever scheme to hurt or otherwise defraud people who have wronged me, then im no better, as they did the same to me over perceived slights. I have but to gird it up and take a deep breath, appreciate the larger plethora. Ask of these things severally, what are they essentially, these guiles amd intrigues are but a spittle into the eternal vacuum of space.  "What are they?" And so forth, and hopefully, before flushed down the toilet, we get something of that quiddity, and we depart none the better, but perhaps happier, which is worth more in the long run. I didnt punch holes in a box with a samurai sword.  And also, there wasnt a cat inside when i did it. Meditate on these matters, harris.

  We've established this by now: things that anger you, control you.  Without that, the powers of the mind tend to seem limitless and entirely unfettered, unless da wants chocolate pudding. Some things still takes precedence. For instance: my ass. In the grand scheme, across the muddy thoroughfare,  men make their fortunes,  or spendthrift there way to a satisfied belly,  or else they sit on the boardwalk like tumbleturds and jelly. Cody came at us with a new angle, as per corporate guidelines calling him to make some adjustments.  He said, his ink was part of his religion, and thusly, it was protected by the Supreme Court and the Constitution. No word yet on Cody's titty, despite 17 million with bated breath, and the world turns as it always has, even despite those expecting disruption, dissipation, and other bug-a-boos, and storyline hinged on the status quo, and expectations disappointed, but random, more phenomenal aspects phenigrated the heavens, as of a fortuitous rain of

"I am no attic singer, no ballroom warbler.  And why?  Because i am practical.  Mine is no squalor of song that cannot transmite itself, with proper exchange value, into a flower-crowned cottage, a sweet mountain-meadow, a grove of redwoods, an orchard of thirty-seven trees, one long row of blackberries and two short rows of strawberries, to say nothing of a quarter mile of gurgling brook." -from "brown wolf" by Jack London ---- He did not complain.  It was the way of life, and it was just.  He had been born close to the earth, close to the earth had he lived, and the law thereof was not new to him.  It was the law of all flesh.  Nature was not kindly to the flesh.  She had no concern for that concrete thing called the individual.  Her interest lay in the species, the race.  This was the deepest abstraction old koskoosh's barbaric mind was capable of, but he grasped it firmly.  He saw it exemplified in all life.  The rise of the sap, the bursting greenness of th

I wrote her a love letter. "Meet me at the gas and go.  5 pm.  Wear something pretty." I got there unreasonably early, because i like the element of surprise, and furthermore i suspect on the ideals of those who anticipate someone such as myself. I went to make wee wee, while i waited, in a bathroom hole with an outside entry.  I could hear the muzak from the other rooms within; and i gave it, in brief, a splinter of my attention, nevermind, my penis nestled between my artist fingers felt like it had been dipped in commercial fragrance, something like jovan or addidas, or even olive oil. I was made to sit again, in a 20 minute intervall before 5 pm.  It was the best of times, it was the cornholiest of times: those were empty moments. I had me a bag of peanuts and a popular soft drink.  As per my youth and the bygone novelty of the wasting of stray moments, i opened the nuts and funneled them into my beverage:  this was the goodie. She was happy to see me, getting there a whol

Its too easy and unworthy of a businessman to simply pay for something, say a practice facility for a sports team.  Nay, not only does the city have to pay for his stadium, but the practice combine goes at a premium, too.  The multipronged approach is to let the city attach an annual economic activity figure, to give it a recognized value to elected officials, but then form a dummy construction project, and allow that to go bankrupt early. Then the city gets to foot the bill, one more time.  It seems like corporate welfare, the usual business tax breaks, where the corporation is given a sweetheart deal in the hopes of recouping tax revenue from the workers.  I mean god forbid the rich have to pay anything. See also the charlotte fc soccer club, putting the city on the hook initially to the tune of 500 milion dollars in the name of future revenue generating "economic activity".  Of course, come time for a new stadium, expect another exhorbitant investment by the city, and even

Communists masquerading as enlightened, com]assionate progressives within the safe port of a capitalist constitutional republic might decide, as per the moving goal post of "liberty', that if a lot of people wanted cell phones, then a new decree would provide free cell phones for each ward of the state, deeming a cell phone as a basic human right. And during an economic downturn, or if there were popular headwinds from the average citizen, then everyone would get a free phone.  The conservatives would insist on not providing the new entitlement to illegal immigrants, and liberals would diatonically disagree, and also ask to include prisoners. I note here i refer to "the entitlement class", or people who rely so much on a system payout, as "wards of the state", which is a bit of an irregular usage of the term. We note too, like the obama, the baruch, the zhivago from chicago, schecter elizondo, was a "constitutional student and lawyer" however bein

I was listening to that Nashville chart smash, "my Daddy was a cornholder."  And you know, you make a stray comment on social media, the Karens. "what office was your Dad elected to?" "He cleans the bathrooms." "Well, bless his heart.  That's so special." Elmer Fudd his ass into a pot of stew, Cornholder stew. "No, Richard, I don't want to go in there."  

I was thinking in my diseased brain that I had never really gotten into Les Miserables, with its awkward music and so fourthce, how he had, that John, nicked a crust of bread to feed the street sitter girl and her little squeak. And he, and in turn, his jailer, sang fruity little hawkword songs. Anne Hataweg was fine, and maybe, some golfer would buy her an SUV or something.  Some spicy chips or something. If she put out good, or whatever the dude asked asked her to do, you know, the Tribal Carlton, or what have you, cock-sided little eyes, or whatever, of a diseased turn of mind to put something askew, kind of as it was, John sprited into the clink, over that, made as it were, a "regular". And singing to his jailer. Sort of an awkward street walker, lurking sort of youngish female, to wit, some business owner to give her a sub-let, or something, put food in the gullet, or whatever it was she on about. Look, here's a sideways shot of my body, showing the curve of my ass.

Eff you Take the lower case, Serif family "f". Right next to it, like the old life partner, or timber company partner, whatever: the uppercase "J" character. But rotated along the horizontal axis, all the way from downtown, up turned. You get a little quaint letter-picture of a light bulb. Under that, a little screw down to the bored plank of a furniture item, and its a light bulb!

"They" said some motherfucker at the Horsepital had a collectible watch, a relic from something, and I said, I wasn't worried about that, venture capitalist guys those, putting money in holes and so forth, billing from licensed vendors, like when you get three xray bills from offices you've never heard of, and doctors you've never seen. I'm letting this motherfuck just come on down. Fucked if I'm fixing it. A big crater. Like the hole, that monument cascading water thing they built as the 9/11 monument. I was considered, on a listing site, without my consent, to be a 9/11 expert, and yet the most I ever did was critique media pieces about 9/11, making me, not an expert, but a critic. Anyway, between the gourmet food in the guts, and the little flacid metrosexual peckermeat, dude had giant white cross belt buckle, and the world's biggest whore was staring at me. I say worlds biggest whore, I couldn't prove it, she didn't do me, but I suppose mat

As it was, a great certain, crimson faceplant and little green men from the pleiades beniggling oprah beyond the ranges of farthest lucidity. I read of God, sort of a divinely inspired dictum that of inspiration over purest doctrine, the worship hour transcending weeks of Bible study, flinging out a whole church van full of theology texts, in favor of a move of the spirit.

  And so it remains that such things as these, are for a time, and nothing more, ashes and dust, and so forth, a bit of dust to be brushed off the flag. This and not too much more. In the Bizarro Universe, he looked real horrorshow, an entire universe.  And they sent Hulk into space, he conquered a planet by kicking everyone's behind, then they made him leader, and he came back. Things happen, you know.  Not for some of us, but for others, maybe.  "But not for you, gunslinger..." You know. And eventually we stop whittling, and start acting, by now have we not assuaged a pattern from all this? By now? Another year? I say to the firmament, I've seen enough and its time to spark doings instead of bloviatings, and reach for a bold country called the future, and "undiscovered country", and yes, pattern enough to build a whole universe of nothings, waitings, neverminds, and friends that wear couch covers. Quite enough. Time to live, as we live, not as we go out,

"thou hast girded me with strength unto the battle: thou hast subdued under me those that rose up against me. Thou hast given me the necks of mine enemies; that I might destroy them that hate me. They cried, but there was none to save them: even unto the Lord, but he answered them not.  Then I did beat them small as the dust before the wind: I did cast them out as the dirt in the streets. Thou hast delivered me from the strivings of the people; and thou hast made me the head of the heathen: a people whom I have not known shall serve me." - Psalm 18(KJV) "Behold my servant, whom I uphold; mine elect, in whom my soul delighteth; I have put my spirit upon him: he shall bring forth judgment to the Gentiles. He shall not cry, nor lift up, nor cause his voice to heard in the street. A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench: he shall bring forth judgment unto truth. He shall not fail nor be discouraged, till he have set judgment in the earth:

"Doodle-boy" said Deddy.  "I'll get the wheelbarrah and you, them two old shovels, before your ma sees, make for the back acreage." Doodle looked confused for a second, perpetually to have an instant of recognition, perpetually too to seem confused as the wheels turned, un-sprung mass and all that, a certain careening in the thinkmeats, as it were, and a common state of the universe and mankind in general. But we bring certainty from confusion, maybe, and Doodle did too, and he beat-feet for the shovels, then with the old rusty shovels, to the wood, and into it, until at last he turned and couldn't see either Deddy or the house. So he stopped, and the countenance was surety and not confusion, though he was kind of lost at the moment, but looking sure anyway, a kind of faith in Deddy beyond most other things. --- They dug, indeed as was said, some people have loaded guns, and some dig, or some where born rich and some had to dig for it, a sort of clam hunt ra

    "Last of a dying breed, I'm a knowledge seed; I need action: that's what I need." "I'm goan stay high up in the clouds, gonna keep puntin' that pu**y around, got plenty of bullets in my bucket just in case its going down. I'm a Brooklyn soldja, yes, I'm is, I'm a skull and bones and that's danger I don't give a toot who's beef it is." -Legend of the Disheveled Ancient.   In fact, I was thinking to myself, in trench coat and gym socks, leaving the place, I had seen the movie somewhere before, that it seemed so awfully derivative of something of the natural substance of the universe; the tao then?  A common thread?  To pee in the lobby bathroom or go behind the car in the parking lot; I had my mind on my business, to put it all, set to rights, and the lunatic dissipation of tedium, fumblings, kind of reaching around in the dark, the PoughKeepsie Delaware Motel 6, did they leave a light on? Pamala thanked the SC Democrats, ki

"Did you screw Bret Hart?" Asked Jim Ross with a straight face. Equally serious, Vince responded, "clearly Bret screwed Bret." My mind reeled. One thing i like is the synergy between trading cards and nft's, particularly the on demand sets, and i think the Bret dust-up would be cause for a series of NFTs. Imagine it.  A team on the backend running down licensing and permissions.  Newspaper covers, quotes and so forth. Popular events and happenings, minutia that transcends sports entered into the trading card arena.   I particularly like the "dracula owes moon knight money" thing. I even like the idea of a premium xmen series 2(1991, chris claremont, jim lee) set.  Frame by frame, babies, of one of the best selling comic books of all time. "Kane was playing with the chemicals." The little cheever.  Doodlebug. Sawed-off satire of a man, that one. Kevetch. Indeed i say, of society, that how we treat and care for our kevins, is perhaps indicative

"Constantly regard the universe as one living being, having one substance and one soul; and observe how all things have reference to one perception, the perception of this one living being; and how all things act with one movement; and how all things are cooperating causes of all things which exist; observe too the continuous spinning of the thread and the contexture of the web."   -Marcus Aurelius, from the Meditations, George Long translation. --- The downfunnelled light from the desklamp struck the reporter across the hips; to the city editor sitting behind the desk the reporter loomed from the hips upward for an incredible distance to where the cadaverface hung against the dusty gloom of the city room's upper spaces, in a green corpseglare as appropriate as water to fish--the raked disreputable hat, the suit that looked as if someone else had just finished sleeping in it and with one coat pocket sagging with yellow copy paper and from the other protruding, folded, the

  "You're a Terminator.  The government needs you.  Where's the old magic?  Where's that Robocop?" "Robocop works in Detroit." It was a thing that was meant to compute GPS and fuel loads and all that, sort of an advanced trope of the old woodgrain Alcorn or Tandy.  It was meant to make life easier, and somewhere along the way, it made a statistical calculation that man can't live triggered or upset, if he's dead. Which is true, but you know, defense contractors and all, the West Point boys making the big decisions and all.  Mercs and Mooks lurking, and all, and then they're talking about getting the OCP corporation involved with the A.I. programmers? "Mind if I, zip this up?"  What till she looks at your junk before you take the big swing. "Canoe fry, Bobby?" "I'd buy that for a dollar." August 29 1997 was the original Judgement Day, you know, and they showed people happy, bullsh*tting around in public parks

I found myself in a moment of spiritual clarity in a moment of intense spiritual fog, spiritual night, the dark night of the soul; late night on the porch.  I remembered labeling myself, "the destroyer" in past years, faithless lost years. Jangle, jangle. Toilet handle. Flushing those down. I remembered that, and I tried to make amends with my maker on that, I repented of my own past, a condition with which so many are encumbered.  And I was thinking, the recompense, is that so many too, time beats our asses, in the long run, and as is said, the Lord is above time, immune to time, which is part of the "mystery" what King David and others called the "glory". It became, laid-open for me, the errors, the minutia, the complaints of others, how they had wasted their time, and to me, how I had wasted my time, and in a mix of fury and confusion, a frustrated child flailing, how I had so often pissed away so much good without thought.  Flushed it away without thou

Deddy was a man.  Doodle was a Cheever, a little up-and-coming man, and man was something made so much of so often, but scarcely ever understood.  Momma was an Unfulfilled Modern Woman Longing For Her Next Adventure: not Doodle's words, but how Momma described herself on social media.  Uncle Robert said Momma just needed to get a tattoo. He was looking up a movie, was doodle, on his tablet, on the miraculous internet; it was a movie made in just a few days, and on a dare.  Someone with means had dared another friend with means to make a movie, as if to say, "bet you can't", or "if you don't you have no hair on your balls."  It was hosted on something French or something, "Teatro Del Absurd". Anyway, the lady was sitting there pawing at her hair or something that movie women of the late 60's did, and suddenly, the soundtrack kind of scratches and there is a guy with a french farmer hat, a guy looking like a late night disc jockey, standing t

There was, ahead across the tarmac, a buzzard nibbling a snake, and I thought to myself, "hello, America", and the thing traversed across the menthol smoke towards the volunteer oaks, distant; the old dream not dead, but perhaps sleep-deprived and a bit frazzled from being fed rank non-sense. I was gonna offer the mountain woman a back rub, and I asked of her well-being, her frame of mind, and so forth, her general outlook on things.  She mumbled non-commital and I thought to further, along, to myself, by and by, that the pure shock value of offering a back rub to a stranger, a myself, dubious, markedly strange even to down to my insoles, would provoke a sort of honesty from the lady which is uncommon, but also, even further, that I have no right to demand such from a stranger. Everybody tends to get more honest on their knees. But their was the curve and the horse place, and all, Queeftown, and a red concourse of shape with an also strange grayscale outer laying, Randall Que

  Standing over the prostrate form of Howard Kirvonnen, I had the epiphany that my conscious may yet in fact have blind spots. Oh fet.

  Rosencranz and Gildenstern of the frisson moderne', frisson publick.

"It hurts when I pull on it."  The early wheat danced like firework sparkle sticks. "Well, then, Chud, don't pull on it." Chud spat and looked stoically in the distance.  "But its there; that be mostly why I pull on it." "I know" said, Seaver.  One could imagine, a civilized man, get into the diseased mind of a bad sort, kind of float over the waters or something, and get a sense, skim the surface, maybe easier than a less civilized man could understand his better; but mockery and emulation was different, a vice versa. "Wouldn't pull on it if I won't there, is the way" said Chud, feeling over his appendix and lower intestines.  Kind of an ambiguity of a Foghat Zepplin Skynyrd Friend, that was Chud, to be a rock and not roll, shadows taller than his soul: The Manchild Chud. Sawgrass and feverfew whispered in the interminable silence, and Chud might have been thinking of anything; but a carton of frozen foodstuff waiting at ho

I will govern my life and thoughts as if the whole world were to see the one and read the other, for what does it signify to make anything a secret to my neighbor, when to God, who is the searcher of our hearts, all our privacies are open?   -Seneca on God ----  "Do you remember--in Assumption, Calyxta?"  he asked in a low voice broken by passion.  Oh! she remembered: for in Assumption he had kissed her and kissed and kissed her; until his senses would well nigh fail, and to save her he would resort to a desperate flight.  If she was not an immaculate dove in those days, she was still inviolate; a passionate creature whose very defenselessness had made her defense, against which his honor forbade him to prevail.  Now--well, now--her lips seemed in a manner free to be tasted as well as her round, white throat and her whiter breasts. They did not heed the crashing torrents, and the roar of the elements made her laugh as she lay in his arms.  She was a revelation in that di

Things had got hairy when I worked at the Rockingham Division.  They were talking about "uniquely qualified to work the other side of the street" and there were moles for other departments and all kinds of shady stuff.  One of the supervisors was always trying to take my lunch away from me. But I hid it under my leg.   Up there, so close to the Canadian border, I was surprised by the quality of the food.  I knew about the maple abundance, but I was having other stuff, like church hotdogs, fried porkchops, and some of the best adapted Chinese, Americanized Chinese, I think I'd ever had. My company handler would get really agitated about shrimp.  He would insist, "no shrimp". Darnell wouldn't wear hearing protection in the server room, because he was just a balls-out kind of guy, but the technique worked for him, and his productivity remained among the best in the division. Mister Doug transferred me pretty good once it was clear I was at the end of my rope th

    One, so called "knockout roses" sold leading up to Mother's Day across my area.  The Knockout Roses planted in 2010, or thereabouts, by a dutiful son, for his aging mother, inherited, the care of, by me, who tries, but is woefully uncertain about pruning. However, I plan to get serious about pruning before next blooming season.  Perhaps even go for special feeding for the blooming plants. The next rose has climbed twelve feet into the sky, and dropped a tendril of blooms from high in a dark plum tree.  The stalk along the ground is woefully unimpressive, at worst, and not much different, at best, and the string of blooms circa Mother's day is impressive to me.  This one is a wild climber, receiving no care, neither watering and so far no pruning.

Virginia Constitution of 1776 Whereas George the third, King of Great Britain and Ireland, and elector of Hanover, heretofore intrusted with the exercise of the kingly office in this government, hath endeavoured to prevent, the same into a detestable and insupportable tyranny, by putting his negative on laws the most wholesome and necessary for the public good: By denying his Governors permission to pass laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation for his assent, and, when so suspended neglecting to attend to them for many years: By refusing to pass certain other laws, unless the persons to be benefited by them would relinquish the inestimable right of representation in the legislature: By dissolving legislative Assemblies repeatedly and continually, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions of the rights of the people: When dissolved, by refusing to call others for a long space of time, thereby leaving the political system without any legislativ

In Hederbohr Parrish, they found a woman in a black trash bag.  This was the night Tranqilo won the Atlantic Championship in the ICW event at the Peanut Dome.  There were families, drunken men, teenagers all out and about the night, in the pines, people eating hotdogs, men drinking beer from plastic cups. William Hostling, president of the parrish, kind of a superintendent of the county, began a series of mindboggling news conferences.  "We need to have a cook out and talk this through yall".  It was true that certain murders of ethnic component, and an age component, and a heat component, didnt carry the pure force of the murder of the youngling white woman. One of the fledgling right wing news agencies was doing live tv and streaming spots at one of the local convenience stores.  Now, these stores didn't sell gas, cause of the moratorium in the county, but the drinks were cold, and there were Debbie cakes. And now, a right-wing commentator. "Hederbohr Massacre: H

"People that live on an island are generally shifty and untrustworthy, like Piers." -Thomas Paine We have, within ourselves, a kind of sovereign identity of our own, our popcorn and sugar in the morning, deer and squirrel kills; they cannot and will not do what we do, but to sit and reap the benefit? Perhaps we could get in better relation with old George, have a "come to Jesus" an altar call, get some sinners delivered over to the fiery furnace, and explain that we don't pay taxes for his benefit, but for the benefit of what is a fledgling, youngling land of enthusiasm and dreams. But there are eldritch things, in the New England woods, that we do not talk about in the daylight, and only the Miskatonic University, Scott Faulkner drinking on horseback and such, there are things out there, so called "Indian mounds" built and abandoned in favor of traveling with the Buffalo. It's like, at some point, they went on a mindset retreat and never came back