At the back of the hill

Warning: May contain traces of soy, wheat, lecithin and tree nuts. That you are here
strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton.
And that you might like cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Monday, March 28, 2016


There are times when social chit-chat goes decisively south.

"California was colonized by settlers coming down the Oregon trail with vast herds of pigs, after crossing that big thing in the middle of the country, what's it called, The Great Sahara? Yeah man, lots of dry sand and those things like Jawas.
I seen the movies.

We were discussing what we did on Easter.

"That's why we ate ham Sunday; because, California."

I should really know better by now than to engage seemingly likable cigar smokers whom I have never met before in conversation, as their world views are, necessarily, in permanent conflict with the weltanschauung of almost any pipe smoker, excepting the aficionados of aromatics.

Sometimes they seem like badly educated teenagers.

Sometimes, simple and trusting kindergartners.

Their 'on, off' switches need calibrating.

Evil hamsters. Evil!

Tomorrow is a day off. Consequently almost all conversations are likely to be completely sane and normal. No creative re-interpretations of reality, no paranoid suggestions of world-takeover by aliens, no sneering remarks about ethnic cooking, no boastful burbling about their hot tubs, bicycling gear, water bottles, and suburban car ports.

Hamsters are easily overstimulated.

They go all giddy.

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