THE GORMLESS

Several of the people whom I encounter when at work are fervent fans of the rich fat orange pedophile. I do not speak with them if at all possible. Even hearing their nonsensical ranting rather turns my stomach, and as you can probably guess their discourse lacks even the intellect of a collection of sock monkeys.
Three years ago we banned the gentleman who occasionally had bathroom accidents. Just too damned senile. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

It probably should not surprise you to hear that some of my favourite creatures are, actually, sock monkeys. Remarkable creatures. And considerably more intelligent than Trump voters.


I'm off for the next few days.


One or two important tasks tomorrow, but otherwise plenty of time to look up viruses, bacteria, amoebas, and slime molds. And such things as vectors, symptoms, rates of infection, complications, medication, and fatality rates.

These are subjects which I find interesting and stimulating, but it turns out that at least one of the fellows is rather creeped out by all this. Desperate to change subjects.

Even something so innocuous as slime molds.
Which are strangely beautiful.
They have charm.


Gormish.



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