Monday, April 17, 2023

CIVIC IMPROVEMENT

Part of the dynamic in the backroom is that the glandered old fossils have an uncontrollable urge to disagree with almost everything the subcontinental gentleman says. Which is often rather justified. The combination of often haphazardly incomplete all-knowingness, an urge for nitpicking and minutiae where that is neither needed nor illuminative, and misstatements from half-remembered articles, can, after several years, prove intensily irritating.

The net result is that they've changed from halfway reasonable (yet indisputably unpleasant) old crotchets into gibbering semi-illiterates. Which is most noticable when he is around.

Qanon has nothing on them.


When he isn't there, they sound far less like crazy fascist dingos. Of course they still are that, abundantly -- years of reacting to irrelevant interjections have had an effect -- but one might almost think that rational conversation with the senile old bastards was possible.

I still worry about their alcohol abuse and incontinence diapers.

But I feel far less inclined to employ a cattle prod.
Remarkably, I now know more about stockbrokers, puking on shipboard, gold mining, and intergalactic battle cruisers than I ever thought possible, or even wanted.
This is all useful knowledge! Learning is good!


A proposal has been made that a hot tub be installed in the backroom.
The idea of white flab floating face down is appealing.
I shall give it my support.


I get through work by smoking my pipe and eating chocolate.
Plus swilling cup after cup of strong tea.

The tin of Sutliff's blend for Saint Patrick's Day is almost empty. Currently whacking through Resolution, a limited edition flake for Stokkebye 4th. Generation compounded by Jeremy Reeves at Cornell & Diehl. Good stuff. Virginias with some leaf from Turkey and Greece.
The very minor topping is unobjectionable.



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