Weather more suited to the red-state hellzones than San Francisco.
This is extremely disappointing.
During the night I dreamed of Valkenswaard. Perhaps because yesterday afternoon the judicial member had complained about his big prostate and his weak bladder. When I was growing up in Valkenswaard things like prostates and bladders had not been on the horizon. Little boys are notorious for being able to urinate with great force and precision, why it's astounding, and many of them take great pride in their urinational achievements.
And can't understand why it isn't a competitive event at the Olympics.
Well, they did then. Decades ago. Now they have video games, which are kind of similar. And for little kids growing up in the United States, school sports programmes often take the place of micturation in grammar and high school, which pleases their parents immensely. Little Johny is off at baseball practice instead of drinking vast volumes of liquids with his weird friends. Good. Soon we'll send him to bible camp where he will learn all about clean living, which we failed to teach him, and the traditional roles of the opposite gender, which will stand him in good stead when he joins a nunnery or becomes an office drudge.
The opposite gender seldom engages in kindergarten pissing contests.
They didn't get the memo. Unlike the judicial member.
Who probably has it memorized.
It's my suspicion that a sensible woman would call emergency services and a good divorce attorney at that point. His obsession with football players and junkfood orgies was one thing, but lordy she doesn't want to hear about his renal crises. That's NOT what she signed up for. He was half-way human when he still had a job, but since the factory closed and he retired, he's been kind of off his rocker. Spends half the night staring at the toilet as if it's a mortal enemy. Goes outside with the dog and howls at the moon.
Drinks sixpacks to wash down the turmeric pills because he heard it does great things AND if he's drunk he doesn't care where he relieves himself. Subscribes to mens health mags.
The gym to which he belongs has complained about him.
When I was growing up in Valkenswaard I had no idea about the life American men in the suburbs lead. I still haven't drunk sixpacks habitually, nor stumbled home drunk out of my gourd after howling with the dogs all night. I think turmeric pills are ridiculous snake oil (and almost certainly do not shrink your painfully enlarged prostate, old man). The only things a sixpack of American beer are good for is either washing out your kidney stone (stop eating so much crappy junkfood, idiot suburbanite) or throwing at the ICE agents raiding your neighborhood to arrest the people repairing your roof.
The judicial member is not a pipesmoker, nor a speaker of Dutch. Just a typical suburbanite rightwing American male sitting on his duff watching televised sports and whining about his better half and his lower half. In both cases the plumbing is past its prime.
I am so glad I don't live in Marin County. I just work there.
My ken of suburban living is via senile delinquents.
With whom I otherwise wouldn't associate.
Aaargh, fttt! And p'tooie.
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