THE DELICATE LITTLE BUTTERCUPS!

Sometimes I wonder why the other humans around me even bother. They feel far too entitled, and do not derive nearly as much humour from events. This afternoon one of the endearing local eccentrics (in other words, stark raving mad and very irritating, but well-funded) spent several hours lying flat on the lawn smoking and bemoaning the state of the universe.
Inside, the right-wingers were blaming a lone liberal for the coming war with North Korea. And all of them fear a civil war right here at home.
In between arguing about sports.

On the other hand, I finished cleaning a dozen briar pipes, and smoked three bowls of a fine Virginia and Perique concoction while swilling tea.
So by the time I left, I was zipped to the tits and in a splendid mood.


From which we can logically deduce that Marin-people are tender little buttercups, easily triggered poor dears, and that cigars do absolutely nothing for their tenuous sanity.

No mention of Houston. Because if nature is to blame, especially during a Republican presidency, in a Republican and remarkably retrograde part of the world like Texas, it is pointless to accuse Obama.
He did his best: Operation Jade Helm.
They recalcitrated.



There is eggplant and sausage in the kitchen, cooling down as I write this.
A slight amount of curry paste, major whack of tomato, and sambal plus peppers added to the pan.

Wheat noodles, and a squeeze of lemon juice.
So: meat, gluten, chili, and citrus.
Not edible in Marin.
Buttercups.




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