THINKING OF THE DINGBATS

At times, because of things I've posted on FB, someone sends me a friend request. Normally I first scope out their profile, postings, and elsewhere comments, for warning signs. Are they religious Christian? Are they rightwingers? Are they believers in conspiracy theories?
Did they vote for Trump? If yes to any of these, I ignore their request.

Sometimes a loony slips through the cracks.

Slimy damned beasts.


A few years ago someone in a particular group suddenly wigged to the fact that I considered believers, fascists, and Qanonites as completely batshit, and hell would freeze over long before I ever voted for Trump. Those were all his favourite people!
He angrily de-friended and blocked me.

I was surprised it took so long.
Bloody idiot.

That was about six months before a repulsive bloaty orange-faced baboon with tiny hands and shitty kids lost an election. A man whom the bloody idiot worshipped.

The pipe shown above reminds me of that.
I shall smoke it later today.


Because when I leave the apartment I always carry two pipes, the other one will also be a keen memory aide. It recalls spring sunlight near the old office, and a taco truck.

One pipe for after lunch, one for after teatime. It's sunny outside, but cold. Might wander down to where I used to have a smoke when I was still working downtown.
The memories, you know. Golden.


That entire area has become a wasteland.



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