Tuesday, March 20, 2018


And you should run for the hills, because they will destroy your shopping malls. Can't trust those Vongols! And it's only because of Democrats and the Rothschilds that they were even allowed in.
Plus: Obama is a Bilderberger.
As well as a lizard.

Um, yes. Several days of work in a prosperous enclave to the north of San Francisco leave me convinced that Dunning-Kruger is spreading. And that Republicans, whether or not they are Christian gun-nuts and racists, or just well-to-do fatheads, are all karmically bleeding from the anus.

Even though nicotine has proven benefits to the cognitive processes and boosts short-term memory, those cigar-chomping weasels aren't getting enough of it.

On Sunday, while my colleague and I were trying to ignore the sober Irish psychopath and his buddies in the lounge behind us, a friend brought linguini con vongole for lunch.
In addition to vongols, there were also gambers in there.

[Is there any reason why English should NOT take over words from other languages and tame or butcher them? In Italian, clams, shrimp, mussels, crabs, oysters, and other bivalves are vongole, gamberi, cozze, granchi, ostriche, e altri bivalvi.
In Dutch and Flemish: mercijners, garnalen, mosselen, krabben, oesters, en andere schelpdieren. Chinese: 蛤蜊,蝦,貽貝,蟹,牡蠣,同其他啲雙殼類 ('gaap lei, haa, yi pui, haai, maau lai, tong kei taa dik seung hok leui'). Yes, I know shrimp are not lamellibranches. But in English we include them in that menu-section.]

Discussions of food and pipe-tobacco were, quite probably, the intellectual highlights of my work week, which ended yesterday. Not the cigar crowd.
A non-smoking space alien would have not found intelligent life there.

There was enough linguini con vongole for dinner, and a late night snack.
I am totally vongolled out. Perhaps for the next two days I shall concentrate on fatty pork in Chinatown. And a complete absence of cigar-smokers.
It will do wonders for my gout.


Last night, while Sue, Lucy, Haley, and their boyfriends, crooned sultry love ballads at the karaoke bar, I smoked my pipe below in the portico. No, I do not know those people, but I remember their names. The street outside was empty, except for an unstable street person with a visible plumber's crack, who overturned a trash bin and then built a shrine with discarded fruits, soda cans, and packing tape, in front of a neighboring business.
It is wondrous what you can do with a banana.

A drifting odour of pot reminded me of Marin.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.

No comments:

Search This Blog


What this society needs is churchpeople going on regular tours of low places to spread the word of god. Not because habitués of such places ...