AN ABSENCE OF RODENTIALITY

As is customary every week I headed out, after a brief rest, to meet the bookseller for an evening of bar-conversation -- the start of his weekend, the middle of mine -- armed with pipe and tobacco. Sadly, the only rat I saw today was running around the trash-dumping area at the end of the square earlier while it was still light. The early rat gets the garbage bag. And despite the alleys being usually a generous venue for rat watching, which is also part of the weekly custom, the presence of several rat traps showed why they weren't like that now.

Imagine rodent lamentations. And songs about the valley of death.
Not even any transgender mice, despite the liberal funding.
I understand that elsewhere they're everywhere.
It's all the Republicans fault.

Back in my day, sonny, tell you what! Hmmph!

Other than that I quite enjoyed my wait for the bookseller to get off work. Smoked my pipe, watched the occasional pedestrian, sidestepped one or two street people, said 'thank you' to a young lady who complimented me on my smoking equipment, and quietly meditated.

I missed the rats (and transgender mice), though. They add so much to life I feel. Besides a distinct gamey funkiness. Nature in all her scurrying glory.

The beer place was too full. The karaoke place was an insane asylum. The bail-out from both those venues got crowded moments after we sat down, and normal conversation was nearly impossible, but besides that I think my hearing is getting worse. I said "what" several times, even after we had left.

I'm still giggling over the 'transgender mice'. We're currently governed by imbeciles.
Who are assisted by imbeciles. And applauded by other imbeciles.
Rats and mice can be remarkably intelligent.
Unlike Republicans.


What?



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TIME TO TAKE MY PILLS

If you're wondering how folks in San Francisco are taking America's rapid slide into blinkered rightwing dingbattism, we're taking it surprisingly well. Mostly because we didn't expect much else from the rest of the country. We've always considered everything between the Oakland Hills and The East River to be Deliverance country anyway, with too many banjo players.
So this isn't any special shocking revelation to us.
Your mask slipped, that's all.


Most of it is small-minded villagers who by a process of natural selection and devolution have too few letters in their alphabet, banned all of the books in the local library, caught the clap from family members, swill crappy beer breakfast lunch and dinner, live off junkfood and carrion, and always vote the solid Christian Fundamentalist ticket, whether it's for the schoolboard, municipal trash collector, or president.
Bless their hearts.

We'll never visit there, because of the people in trailer parks outside of town who engage in cannibalism. They also vote the solid Christian Fundamentalist ticket, y'all.

But we love closet queens, all butch and hyper masculine during daylight.

If you can say 'Tom of Finland', you can say 'good ole boy'.
Our favourite music is resentful Country Western.
Well, besides Disco, that is.
And hymns.


Ooh, sexy, bitches.


Say 'hi' to Gooper and the no-neck monsters, y'all.



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IT WAS PROBABLY THE CAT

One of the individuals whom I see every weekend comes by with a dog. He's not a one dog person, and it's probably true that the dogs are far more loyal to him than he is to them.
He is not despicable. Despite being a Republican.
I'm basing that assessment on the dogs.
The dogs are decent people.


There was a small dog at work yesterday who looked at me with great sadness while I ate my lunch. I thought it was because he was wondering why I did not share my food, so I got him a dog biscuit, but now I'm inclined to think it was because he couldn't chew much. The sadness may have been caused by regret. A sorrowful longing for crunch and shred and texture.

Sorry, Rover, what I'm eating came from the convenience store. It was made for white people. If you found crunch and shred and texture in it, it would disconcert you.
It's lowest common denominator, total suburban.
Blah enough to be Iowa.

Who knows, maybe I should have shared it with him. He might have liked it.

A cat, however, would have ripped it out of my grasp at an opportune moment, tried to chew it, and then spat it out as being too bizarrely bland for consumption. It's sole saving grace was that the package said "Best By Tuesday March 11".

This morning I saw some lovely steamed fatty pork meatballs after getting my congee, and regretted that unlike a feline's, my stomach isn't infinitely capacious. They looked yummy.
I'm guessing they had ginger, black mushroom, and water chestnut in them.
Sort of like 'Lions' Heads', but without the cabbage.
Very much not Iowa.


If that eatery had a cat on the premises it would probably be a chonker.
Best fed cat for miles. A gravitastic furry gourmand.


I am jealous of this imaginary beast.



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TIME TO SLITHER ABOUT

Preparatorily fry up some fatty meat the night before to gasak while doomscrolling. And contemplatively eat a little too much chocolate with your hot caffeinated beverage. Then get up at dawn's early crack for coffee and a walk around the block with a pipe, after which head over to the busline downtown. Transfer to another line, walk downhill, show up forty minutes early. Which results in getting out of the office in record time so that you can head over to Chinatown for lean pork century egg congee (皮蛋瘦肉粥 'pei dan sau yiuk juk').
With a fried dough stick (油條 'yau tiu').

And after that you have a good long smoke, big bowl of tobacco. This is the best way to cap an appointment with your cardiologist. which has necessitated being in close proximity to other human beings at an ungodly hour which you did not want on public transit.

This is my bus! I found it! Go away!
Mentally shake stick at everyone.
Then judge them by their shoes.
Because you're looking down.
Avoiding all eye contact.

If it's before ten in the morning it is too early for eye contact.

Too much human interaction that early leads to weltschmertz, existenzangst, identitätskrise, zweifelhaft, und ein tiefes bedürfnis nach reinheit.

The congee was very good. The pieces of yautiu retained a nice crispity flakiness even after submersion. The pipe afterwards was divine. Oh yeah, the medical appointment went well. I'm not dead yet. And the word "normal" was used several times.



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STIMULATING THOUGHTS ABOUT CHEMISTRY

"So it's agreed then? In June we all make Molotov Cocktails." No one voiced disagreement as they were all far too busy talking over each other and sharing opinions, or pouring wine and swilling Scotch. Sadly, there were no bready substances for the charcuterie, which would have sopped up some of the excess and slowed absorption. And I was probably the most attentive member seeing as I was drinking coffee instead of hitting the booze. The resident Dutchman has to stay alert. It's how we ended up brutally exploiting the world for so long while maintaining a pretence of being liberal humanists and ever so civilized.

Well, that last isn't a pretence. We actually are. We've never been ruled by an orange puke bucket and his coterie of paranoid numskulls. Just remember that.

When I asked one of the gentlemen present what his overseas relatives were thinking about this clownshow, he informed me that they were half shitting themselves over what the president would do, and half pissing themselves laughing.

This blogger is absolutely in favour of well-functioning eliminative processes.
I'm thinking more of incendiary methods and tactics.
Not biological functions.

Most of the boys agreed with my assessment that violent riots were both a reasonable option under certain circumstances as well as a great likelihood by summer. And that all markings of an attempted Fascist take-over are swinging into place, albeit quite clumsily and amateurish because the cabal are stupid people, raging paranoid egomaniacs, and absolutely incapable of all being on the same page or even concerted co-operation with their fellow dingbats.

It's not subtle. But many people are stupid and credulous.
As well as adulant or fellow travelers.


Other matters that we discussed were Willmer pipes, Carolina Red, Fribourg & Treyer, Kapp & Peterson and green wood dye (not colour-fast), stem materials, the addition of Perique. Plus terpeneols, carotenoids, and tannins. That last in connection with iron acetate, and staining wood. Briar, after curing, is very low in tannins, unlike for instance oak.
So very strong bitter black tea as a pre-coat comes to mind.



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SINGLEMINDED IN A WAY

Daylight savings time starts today. Do you feel good about that? One of my friends who dresses snazzy and works in a related field back East doesn't. He's on record as ranting about it. While wearing an elegant silk cravatte and holding a cocktail.

Somehow, I feel, being snappily gitted out and slightly snockered adds to the effect.

Personally I rather like daylight savings time. Real progress. Life seems so much better when there is more day to the day. Although stepping out for that first smoke after coffee is, for a week or two, a bleaker and meaner event. I have, naturally, already picked out the pipes that go in my bag for the working day. And I realize that I will need to decide which pipes I take with me tomorrow morning when I head to my cardiologists appointment tomorrow morning, at the crack of dawn or thereabouts. Very early. Key thing will be remembering how to get into the men's room at the hospital. Because the coffee will be heading towards the bladder at the time it's over and I don't like clenching for the entire busride back.

Men of a certain vintage are, like women at almost any age, keenly cognizant of clean bathrooms in the city. We don't mind going on trips or jaunts, but we'll wonder if there is a clean bathroom at the end of the journey. If we doubt that there is one there, we'll research the vicinity of the destination in ever wider internet circles on the internet and figure out to the minute precisely how long it takes to get from point A to point Pee.

We'll keep conversations short lest they impact our appointment with mister Loo.
"Yes yes, that's fascinating", we'll say, "but I need to be somewhere".
Unlike young people we don't need our cellphone.
Not for that; too busy.


Indeed, your kid is cute, your dog is nice, and we admire your new car.
But we have an urgent thing to attend to elsewhere.


Unlike the fairer gender we intend to be entirely alone at that time.
Gwan, piss off.



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OFF THE CLIFF

One of the fossils pissed off another fossil by sending him something about transgender mice. He was vocal about it. Darn well dyspeptic. So the question had to be asked: "are these transgender mice in the room with us now?" "Can you point out on this dummy where the mice hurt you?" At which point the dummy piped up in protest. "Heyyy!!!"
"Oops, sorry Danny, I thought you were out of it again."

Additionally, I may have suggested that we should post facto rename the Enola Gay. Enola of America. And New Mexico should henceforth be called New Of America.

I encourage dyspepsia in select people.

If I had my druthers valium would be given to many of these elderly Republican gentlemen before I see them, and laxatives administered after they leave to keep them properly drained. There is no reason not to put them on a rigorous schedule to keep from inconveniencing the worthwile human beings around them. Also, I firmly believe in hosing them down regularly. Years ago the first impression I got of one of them was the mess after he spilled his soup, and another had a long screaming match with a third. They've become worse since then.

No, these people are not fully functional. And yes, they vote.
Which is almighty unfortunate.




You know, there was a period when we had friends among the nations of the world.
Quite a few of them were allies and even respected us.

Now every one thinks we're batshit insane.




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SAWDUST AND GREASE

The attentive person has mental checklists, which contribute to keeping the mind active and flexible. And only if they are neurotic to the point of anal or obsessive are there acronyms and mnemonics. I am as you know not anal or obsessive. So nothing rhymes or sounds neat. Pills, coffee, pipe smoke. Coffee again, shave, shower. Get dressed. Front door keys and lighter, work keys and coins less whole quarters in pairs so that the laundry money increases by half dollars. Four pipes, pouch of pipe tobaco, pill container refilled and into pipe box, box in bag, throat lozenges, ear twiddly, bus card, extra smokeables and teabags, check burners on stove. Teevee room off, kitchen, bedroom, corner light in hallway, and bathroom also off.
Did I forget anything? Lock the door behind me, walk to where I catch the bus.
Count driverless taxis, tykes, bums, dogs, and regular faces en-route.
See? Not obsessive. Just well-ordered and logical.

Then I check for work keys and bus pass again.
Go over the entire list mentally.
Re-remember my pills.
Continue count.

This is all normal and well-ordered. The disorganized person rushes out the house in a mad panic, then remembers that he or she left the stove on and the water running.

The only thing that's missing is a sound breakfast, which they tell me is the most important meal of the day, and must not be missed in the well-ordered American Protestant universe, it's sinful. Bacon, eggs, bowl of porridge, hashbrowns, orange juice, fruit, and coffee.

That's all a bit much. I'm not surprised most people are idiots for half the day. Their guts are draining all the oxygen rich blood from other parts like the brains and demanding all the attention.

Caffeine, nicotine, and highly refined sugar.
That is quite sufficient.



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PROLONGED RANTS

While I was eating I listened to the animated talk from several tables away. The retired busdriver, who six years ago had spoken at length praisefully about the Gung Chaan Tong (Communist Party) did not mention them even once in his lengthy loud discourse, though he did reference Dak Long Pou (Tong Naap Dak) and the Gung Wo Tong (Republican Party). The word Mei Gwok came up several times. That went on, back and forth, for a good twenty minutes. The guy resembling an elongated frog finally got the conversation onto cigarettes (yin jai) which were a potent source of government revenue as well as unhealthy and give you bad breath. He too was repetitive and long-winded. And loud.
All seven of them were long and loud.

I knew that this was going to happen. That's why I sat several tables away.
Also, I had no wish whatsoever to be dragged into the conversation.
Trust me, I know nothing about any of that. Not a thing.
I'm just an innocent little white guy.
Eating chicken curry.

Say, this is quite good!

While smoking a pipe afterwards I marvelled over several non-Chinese goobers passing by, as well as a little missy devouring an ice cream bar. In this horrid weather. The idiot hippie wearing shorts and a colourful tropical shirt was explicable -- probably too stoned and crazy to feel anything -- but the young lady eating a frozen dessert made no sense at all. Ma'am, it's cold. Damned well arctic. So frigid frigid frigid. What the heck is wrong with you?

Does your mother know you're doing that?
Oh, she's right next to you.
Never mind.

Sometimes what Chinese people consider a mid afternoon snack that won't spoil your appetite for dinner is baffling. I suppose if you eat it standing up in freezing wind it doesn't count. Good thing my questions were strictly an internal query, not actually voiced.

Girls snarfing cream ice pandas do NOT need to hear me doubting their sanity.
I had multiple layers on under my coat and I was freezing.
It was so cold, so horribly cold.
Snow weasels.



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VISITORS FROM CHUMBUCKET

My plan today is to get out of the house relatively early for chores and lunch, then relax with my pipe in the alleyways, avoiding the tourists. Simple. Some tourists are chuckleheads from the red states. Bugger hospitality, life is too short to deal with those people. As I understand it, they've decided to shorten the alphabet in those places because they hardly ever need it, and Pi shall henceforth be three, no more no less. Because three is easier to use in calculations than 3.14159265358979323846264 .....

3.14159265358979323 .....
3.1415926535897 .....
3.141592653 .....
3.14159 .....


All school children need is Jesus anyway, and not vaccines or lunches.
Or anything that might interfere with a football scholarship.

If I didn't live in the United States I would sneer at it.

Instead I smile tolerantly and pretend everything is okay.


Also, this weather is getting to me. It was warmish, now it's cold again, and when the wind picks up it feels like it's freezing. Yes, I know it's totally awful elsewhere, but I'm fine with that. Those are parts of the country that I don't care about that should sink into the ocean anyway.
We're not all in this together. Recent news proves that.
Those savages don't deserve weather!



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BAD TEMPERED OLD REPTILE

Having a white man with a walker raise his voice and peremptorily tell me to get out of the way on the bus, when I was trying to do just that, infuses me with no great love for elderly white people. And let us ignore for the time being that I am one of them, as I am not a Karen. If we have to focus on anything at all, let us focus on the fact that at my eyedoctor's office, at the barbershop, at the bank, at the pharmacy, the chachanteng, three grocery stores, and the bakery, everything had been mellow, efficient and effective, and courteous.

And all in Cantonese. Because unlike crusty old entitled white wankers, of which there are a regrettably large number in this city, Cantonese people understand courtesy and not being abrasive. Instead of arrogant, entitled, and disruptive.

Five people or so at the eyedoctors. Two at the barbershop. Only three at the bank, nearly a dozen at the pharmacy. A whole throng of them at the chachanteng, because it was the lunch rush. Several at the grocery stores and at the bakery. Cantonese. Although two of the people sitting down were speaking something that sounded closer to Fukienese (閩南話). In any case I couldn't understand more than one word in ten.

Mati kadadak, asu gila 'kau.

Some elderly white men need to be horse-wipped. They are unlivable, overly entitled, horribly rude, and in far too many ways rabid unbearable hapless jerks.
And I say that with the greatest respect.
As much of it as I am able.


And by the way, my right leg hurts. It's been aching since before noon. If I can act bearable and friendly despite that, so bloody well can you, you poisonous old bastard.


Old white men are precisely what's wrong with this country.
Zo is dat precies, gatverdamme.


Next time, I might whack you with my cane.



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BIGLY FICTION

Did not watch speechy-weechy last night. Read about it. One long grievance-filled rant, cheered by baboons. Went to bed early because of eye-doctors appointment today.
Need those eyes, of course, to read all about speechy-weechy.

There's only so much steaming coberder and hamvefe one can look at before deciding that we all need another bigly front page obituary. Actually, several.
There's a bigly-wigly list.


Pipe preambulary to any ablution was a Comoy squat bulldog like Clark Gable often smoked, filled with an aged red Virginia and Perique mixture, out on the front steps with a big cup of coffee. I decided to combine my two favourite early morning activities in the interests of efficiency, as my eye doctors appointment is right when the office opens.
And I like to be early.

The coffee was strong, the tobacco mild.
A scarf, and a throwrug.
Cold.

Often on Wednesdays I have lunch at a chachanteng, then do some grocery shopping, after which at around teatime I'll end up having a pastry and a hot cuppa while trying to converse with three gentlemen who are collectivly a century older than myself. Which, if they've listened to speechy-weechy, might be challenging. Bigly.

Having gotten up at the freezing crack of dawn, I do not need challenging.
What I need is Battenberg Cake. Sadly unavailable here.
Would go great with coffee.

It's a sudden mental insinking.
A thick slice of cake.
Mmm.



Obituaries, when you think about them, can be truly great literature.
Fiction, romance, and an imaginary world.
Staggering.


Huge. Huuuge. Huge. And bigly. It will be the best obituary ever.




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DIAPERS AND ADDERALL

It should be interesting to see what comes out of the speech tonight. No, I shan't be tuning in. I have better things to do. But I fully expect that all over the red states people will be ululating their adulation. And will then wax ecstatic, captured by Fox News, which always goes giddy over right wing blithering.

I do not watch Fox. It's not just today, but I always have better things to do.

You know, things like fighting the patriarchy, boycotting advertisers on Fox, speaking ill of Republicans, throwing eggs at cyber trucks, filling Molotov cocktails, punching Nazis, and attacking Christianity. Stuff like that. Wholesome all-American stuff.
Oh, and burning flags. To stay warm.

This evening will be no different. Smoke my pipe, have a nice cup of tea, that sort of thing. Whisky would have been on the programme in a minor way, except it might interfere with some of the pills I take, and ruin my liver, which I still kind of need. So no.

Before medication it would have been Scotch, sometimes Irish. Never Bourbon, because that fiery paint-thinner taste does not appeal to me. Which is sad, because it was William Faulkner's favourite hooch, and he is a writer I admire.

[Faulkner particularly liked a toddy: 2 ounces rotgut (Bourbon or moonshine), 4 ounces of water, 1 hefty wedge of lemon, 1 teaspoon of sugar. Fully muddle the sugar to dissolve with water before adding anything else. Absolutely no ice!]

Of course I expect folks in the red states will be quite blotto on Vodka like good Russians by the time the applause has died down. Vodka, as everyone knows, cures vaccines!

RUSSIAN REFINERY GOES UP. OH, THE HUMANITY!

Of course the acolytes in the actual audience for the speech will clap their little hands raw. They know what's best for them. Especially when the Ukraine is mentioned.


What traitorous shit-smears like Trump, Vance, Hegseth, Graham, Tuberville, and others, like to forget is that we also signed the Budapest Memorandum. Which gave security assurances to the Ukraine in return for relinquishing their nuclear stockpile. And proves (again) that United States agreements aren't worth the paper they are printed on.


"What kind of lesson do you think this instance sends” to the people of Ukraine? I think the message being sent to many nations around the world is perhaps we can no longer count on the security promises of the free world."
----- Marco Rubio, in 2014.


The big orange cowpat threatens that protestors will be locked up or deported.
That will probably be his answer to everything.
Along with Diet Coke.




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MY ENGLISH NOT GOOD

That, at least, was the impression I got speaking with her. She repeated the information several times. While also mentioning skin ointment (mimed scratching her arm lest I not comprehend), Walgreens versus Trader Joe's, and several other things. The conversation had started while I was shaving -- so I was wearing a wet bathrobe -- and continued much too long given that I was wet and away from the heated chamber where I do my ablutionary things. And I blame my apartment mate for this, because she had given the old lady a gift card to be used for groceries. But apparently there had been miscommunication because "my English not good". So she was asking me to endeavor further communication.

As I am facile in that regard. Good Dutch, English, Cantonese, and Indonesian.

I promised I would discuss the matter with my apartment mate, but couldn't guarantee anything. And fiercely restrained myself from adding "my English not good".
Which it sometimes isn't. Being occasionally quite evil.


Ma'am, I'm wet and kind of cold right now, and both warmth and soap call me. They beckon.
I must forthwith obey their command. It supplants whatever imperative you wish to lay upon me by scratching your ancient crepey Asian derma and mumbling.
Fifteen minutes of talky-talky. I am not that social.
I am a grouchy damp Dutchman, I am.

Two hours later, fully shaved and showered, and having rubbed some lotion on dry skin areas (which I suspect many people past forty or fifty years old do --their own skin, not mine) and girded my loins, I went down to Chinatown for some claypot rice (煲仔飯 'pou jai faan') with Chinese sausage (臘腸 'laap cheung'), preserved meats (臘肉 'laap yiuk') chicken (雞 'kai') and black mushrooms (冬菇 'tong gu'). Late-ish lunch or very early dinner.

After finishing my tea and paying my bill I was outside lighting up my pipe. It had gotten colder by then. Fortunately I was wearing more than just a damp bathrobe.
Because that is what one does when going out to eat.

I'm still smacking my lips over the crusty layer.
Mmmm, nom nom nom. My goodness.



AFTERWORD: Got to observe elderly Cantonese in their native habitat happily chowing down on delicious eaties while chatting. Some of them are deaf as posts, and might need everything repeated at increasing levels of loudness, a few don't bother actually listening, they're just happy to be there accidentally knocking over their walking sticks leaning against the furniture, which clatters loudly and might startle a nearby Dutchman eating lunch.
I'm just saying, you probably didn't even notice that, did you?
Doven oude kwartel.



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HELLO KITTY NEEDS A BATTLESHIP

With the Americans having shockingly demonstrated how unreliable and unstable we are to the Europeans, and cozied up to Russia, it is time for all our allies (if we still have any) to reassess their relationship with us, with each other, and with their own part of the world.

[NATO without the U.S. will continue. It will include the Canadians.]

We cannot be trusted. We're useful, perhaps, but we're also a major liability with too many strings attached. As trading partners we are completely and flamboyantly criminal. Most of the time. Mexico and Canada have learned that.

As far as security is concerned we're leaky as a sieve, borderline treacherous at best.
We're complete opportunists, frequently unethical, and totally amoral.
As well as, at times, an embarrassment.


So it's time for Japan to rewrite her pacifist post-war constitution, which we imposed upon her, assume a more robust geopolitical posture, rearm like madmen, and permanently ditch that military non-intervention which we also imposed upon her. This may cause dismay and alarm in some quarters, but it will be in her own best interests to do so as well as beneficial to her more friends and trading partners.

It's also time, past time, that Taiwan and Korea rethink their attitudes about that. Unless they wish to be pounded by belligerent schoolyard bullies, absorbed, and permanently enslaved.

The Europeans are currently preparing for a future without the United States, as America has made itself damned well irrelevant, and it's only a matter of time before the American military presence there is firmly requested to terminate itself. We're probably going to turn Incirlik in Turkey into a casino resort catering to the Russian mafia in any case, and the longer we stay in Greece, Italy, and Spain, the greater the chance of major ecological disasters near those bases which we will refuse to clean-up, more than the toxic pollution there already.

Aside from the Phillipines, which is adept at flattering us, and a corruptocracy of monumental proportions besides, whose ruling classes want nothing more than an American passport and American quality Marlboros, Taiwan and Korea both have reason to fear bigger players in the region, and very good reasons not to trust us. Plus American servicemen raping the locals and getting stinko drunk in Okinawa are a burden that the Japanese increasingly resent.

There are many more reasons why a robust remilitarized Japan is extremely desirable, but the inevitable conlusion that Japan must ditch artical 9 is both logical and obvious.

If they act fast, and firmly, getting the United States to pay for the horrendous pollution near the soon to be abandoned bases is more likely, as well as the necessary decades-long clean-up. We won't be able to afford doing that before long.
And we'll be in no position to assist.



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TOO MUCH MARIN COUNTY

Nearly six hours of sour moronic Republican senile delinquents foaming at the mouth over Democrats, Liberals, Europeans, and Zelensky leave me with no love for Marin County, Republican crypto-Nazis, and elderly white men. Most elderly white men. The pipe club meeting is coming up, and many of them are elderly white men. But pipesmokers can be quite civilized.

Cigar smokers are largely crazed hyenas.


Marin County is not a pleasant place to miss the bus back to civilization (San Francisco) because the damned Orcs stayed too long at the inn screeching about Democrats, Liberals, Europeans, and Zelensky. It is cold and dark in early March, and there was a freezing wind blowing. While begrumbling my fate an indistinctly outlined furry creature crossed the road, and from that distance I couldn't tell if it was large rat, a raccoon, or a misshapen dog.
Or someone's inbred loin fruit, using both hands and feet to scurry.

Rats are profoundly social creatures. But this was Marin. So not a rat.
Marin is not conducive to any creature with social skills.
Well, except for the crows.

Daniel remarked, in response to my foul comment about what I had to eat for lunch, that there was always In N Out burgers. I'm sorry, but fastfood shit with bible verses is NOT edible, and I don't have time to queue up for that. On my days off I'll make up for lunching surrounded by suburban barbarism by having Chinese food not too far from where I live, where I don't have to put up with rightwing human garbage either. Thank you. Can you please tell those toxic hosebags in the back to kindly choke on their own body parts?

Especially Jeff and the crazed bald deviant.

I look forward to tomorrow.



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VOICES RAISED IN SONG

One more day before my weekend. And by now you've probably figured out that work is a little stressful because of the republican sewer in the back room. So I shan't mention that. Instead, I'll dwell on the possibility that a friend will drop by as he regularly does on Sunday to smoke a pipe and have a cup of tea. Which is very kind of him. There are some people there who are quite rational, and very civilized.

By and large I hate Marin and its denizens, but there are exceptions.
What I think about Trumplandia can only be imagined.
Although I will spell it out frequently.


All of America's problems could be solved if malaria became prevalent here. Just imagine the changes it would bring to the suburbs, the ellimination of much that is wrong with this country, and the wholesome positive benefits.

One could spend whole days without running into a single Christian if mosquito borne ailments were rife. Sheer heaven.


I fondly think of the red states as being the disease zone.



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NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
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RABBIT RABBIT MARCH 2025

Rabbit rabbit. You're supposed to say rabbit rabbit first thing on the first day of the month for good luck or something before you start bellyaching about things like the orange cheeto's clown circus sending everything to hell in handbasket but for various reasons (actually one main one) which are hard to explain I do not blogpost on Saturday till the evening so the first thing here today is rabbit rabbit and if you've been here before you've probably already heard whatever I have to say about the old adderall addicted fool and his passle of opportunistic hateful incompetents like that big-jawed blonde twitty poo who handles lying to the press room or his vicious Guju attack dog and that Anglo South African egotard as well as the fact that a gibberant weirdo televangelist was appointed to the White House Faith Office (good lord why does that even exist?) which pleases the Christian nutballs who think he's the damned second coming and cream in their rose coloured panties when they fantasize about him grabbing them by their feline euphemisms with his short stubby fingers.
So let's just leave it at that. Rabbit rabbit.

The demented old poisonsbags in the backroom at work aren't even believers and they're positively creaming into their incontinence pants over the man. Even the Jews among them are giddy crypto-Nazis, oblivious entirely to the contradiction that presents. Jeff almost fouled himself with glee yesterday, having lost his moral balance entirely upon marrying that vicious anti-communist refugee who has him spin around her little finger. The man has turned into saddest excuse for an intelligent Jewish boy ever.

He wasn't there today. Praise the heavens.

The two evil bald deviants and the Irishman were. Scumsucking insects.

Last week it was a darn good thing that I do not bring a flamethrower to work. This week is shaping up to be as bad. Perhaps with March madness and the eventual start of the football season they'll have their unclean little joys over something else.
Instead of a Kremlin asset pissing on the Ukraine.
Like Putin told him to.
Krasnov.

How much does a good flamethrower cost anyway?

One or two cylinders of flammable liquid, one cylinder of propellant gas, flexible hose and a triggered nozzle with an igniter. Possibly the whole deal mounted on a baby carriage for greater mobility, as well as to disguise it. So far it's just the idea stage.


Rabbit rabbit.



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NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
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