Saturday, January 21, 2023


One must NOT fall asleep with a turkey vulture nestled on one's chest; they've got strange agendas, and, if peckish might be tempted to explore for fatty inner thigh. Which it is a good thing I don't have, being rather a scrawny old bird myself. Also, Sydney Fylbert (the turkey vulture in question) thinks that if he tells nice bed time stories (about Vlad Tepes and Elizabeth Bathory) to the imaginary little girl hamster she will fall asleep and sleepwalk right into his mouth.

"Once upon a time there was a beautiful Hungarian noblewoman ... "

Yeh, um, no. You're a twisted little freak, my avian friend, and little girls do not want to hear about beautiful Hungarian noblewomen known to later generations as serial killers. And Hungarian history is NOT a suitable subject for the edification of the young.
Or damned well anybody.

"Let us now consider the national hero of Wallachia ... "

Let us not. After due consideration, let us drop Eastern European History from the curriculum entirely, until they're at an age where they can handle it without getting sick. Fourteen, I think. Early teens. After that we'll bring up CRT and also start dissecting frogs. Then, at least two or three years later, we'lll give them Shakespeare.
There are many good reasons why you don't want a turkey vulture anywhere near your precious kiddie-winkies. The fact that they consider everything food is just one of them.
If your offspring are rotund, like so many American children are, they are especially in danger. Little dumplings.

I, personally, benefit from not being edible.
It's a blessing.

Drop that bottle of Sweet Baby Ray's right now!
Despite the name, it's NOT perfect.
Not for your plans.


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