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First draft in Vogon Poetry Contest. Accolades accepted in advance.

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Deep, so deep in Vogan’s sea

She puts her feet in rotting brie

And rise though the bile green tea

To take another love bite of thee

The pain, the pain, I love so dear

Is not so deep to bleed the rear

But gnaws to bone above the ear

To bare my skull and bring a tear

Oh how I love thy bile green tea

That makes a mush of thee and me

And on thy rotting floors of brie

The soda crackers are smeared with chee

And makes me long for a nice long pee.


“Vogon poetry is of course, the third worst in the universe. 

The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their poet master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem “Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning” four of his audience died of internal haemorrhaging and the president of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos was reported to have been “disappointed” by the poem’s reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his 12-book epic entitled “My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles” when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save humanity, leapt straight up through his neck and throttled his brain. 
The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator, Paul Neil Milne Johnstone of Redbridge, in the destruction of the planet Earth. Vogon poetry is mild by comparison.”

― Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy


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I was just going thru the Picassa album and came across a picture of Mu, Sherry’s pit-bull that was a rescue from a street gang. She was a real sweetie among people, but a terror to other dogs. When Sherry came to live with us, it became apparent that I was going to steal her dog.

Mu fell in love with me at the first meeting, and felt that she had to defend me from all other canines, which caused a lot of uncomfortable moments in the house. I could not go anywhere without Mu. The women lost the prized center seat position, and my girl Mu would sit proudly beside me as I made my rounds.

She also was a fireplace dog, and her joy at the prospect of a fire was a real pain in the butt when I was building the fire. She was the only dog I knew that “snorkeled” when she was happy, and the only dog I had that seemed to smile.

I had a daybed that was right by my studio chair, and in the mornings and evenings when I was at the desktop she would lay by my side in happy bliss while I pounded out writing exercises in a vain attempt to master the art of writing.

But one night, four years after she came into my life, she was more clingy than usual. Sometimes things would disturb her, like a new heard in the pasture next door, or a skunk in the neighborhood, so clinginess was not unusual. But this night was different. When I went to bed, she came in and lay by my hand. I knew something was wrong, and I decided to take her into the vet that next morning.

But that morning, I found her by my studio chair, drawing in her last breaths. I think she waited for me before giving up that last breath. There was no time to get her to the vet, and we sat with her until the last death rattle.

Sherry sat down later to write of it, and realized that every story she had of her involved me. I had indeed stolen her dog.

And I sure miss her today as I stumbled on this picture of her has she helped me with my morning exercises a long time ago in a faraway place …




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Wednesday come hot and humid, and I have frittered most of my day away on the PC and listening to talk-radio. I am now following four friends as they wend their way through cancer treatments. I sure don’t like that much, but that is the way it is.

They go up one day, and I rejoice.

They go down one day, and I am distressed that I am so powerless to aid them.

They fret, and I give them empty platitudes and hugs.

Puny humans we be. We are born, we live, we die, and Thanatos silently watches our every step while Chronos measures it. All our railings, all our cursings, all of our “positive thoughts” mock our feeble arrogance.

I remember reading once; It is good to rejoice in your youth, but remember to spend time in the house of the dead as well.

Took a quiz today that predicted that I will live another 15 years. Mmm. OK … what do I do with the five years I am too feeble to wipe my butt. I dread the thought that some minimum wage under schooled nursing assistant will clean me and wash me, and wheel me out into the sunshine while I wait to die.

So anyway … I look at the yard. It needs work, and I will probably get out and put my hand to some of it, but that little voice inside asks; Why?


Background checks for motherhood. (a rant)

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I am getting weary of weeping liberals whining about the five-year-old killing his sister with an unsecured and loaded rifle. Yeah, it’s tragic that the sister will not live out her days, and the boy will grow up with that on his conscious.

But hardly a peep is said about the mother who let her five-year-old have an unsecured and loaded rifle in the first place.

Perhaps we should have background checks for mothers, to make sure they don’t have any moronic tendencies.

If it saves just one child ….

A tragedy that in our family was six year old girl who was killed by a rock carelessly flung from a slingshot. She would have been an aunt of mine. The family never discussed who the rock slinger was, but it most likely was my dad or one of his brothers. It was a tragedy of huge proportions, and the grief was left where it belonged.

There sure were no public outrages of public slingshots. Extreme? No. I don’t think so.


I got mine. So you can just …. Pffft!

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Wednesday. Wodens Day. יום
yom revi’i

Talk radio drones in the background, the cassock air filter hisses by my chair, as I take refuge from the pollen assault. The day is bright and sunny, but will grow gloomy later today as the rain clouds roll in.

It is a pensive day. I ended up yesterday debating with a Blogster® friend on some Conservative issues. Actually, the blog itself was mostly on election strategy, which is another hot-button issue with me. I really don’t enjoy the debate anymore, though. I think the factions have already drawn up the battle lines and cannot debate the issue any longer. Debate has deteriorated to one liners and accusations of personal attacks while delivering said same.

Each time, I swear that is my last political conversation with liberals. And though I have gotten better, ever so often I feel the urge to correct what I see as some glaring inconsistencies from the opposition. And just as often, out comes the old saws.

I conclude at the end of these debates that it really doesn’t matter. The left has won, and now we spiral slowly into another failed socialist Utopia where mediocrity reigns and all are reduced to the same level of misery. Except for a few well-placed individuals and some glitterati, of course.

Well … welcome to it … when this rooster comes home to roost, I will be eating Pablum and wearing nappies in some forgotten nursing home horror if I wasn’t fortunate enough to die first. I got mine, but you aren’t going to get yours because I used it up. Nya nya nya!

The coffee cup is empty. *sigh!* …

So, I guess it is time to get out and water some, and maybe clean up the storage area under the carport.

Good afternoon!


Some 11,800 or so pots of coffee into a marriage …

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Monday morning dawns 64°, a sunshiny day with high clouds and a suffocating 88% humidity. But we don’t mind the humidity. It helps moderate the heat some. A number of birds are visiting the bird bath this morning. They like the new concrete one better than the plastic one it replaced, though it is the same size. The concrete seems to keep the water fresher than the plastic one did, and for some reason, they also seem more willing to share the rim with other species.

Jenna, our new white something that followed Snooks home one day runs into the room about every ten seconds to let me know that Snookums is taking waaaaay to long to get breakfast out, then dashes madly down the hall to the Master bath to let her know she needs to pick up the pace a little.

Kippur, the budgie, is crawling around his cage, fighting with the various toys and such. He occasionally sides up to me and tries to get me to put some music on. But it is such a gentle hush in the house this morning that I hate to disturb it. Only the whine of a computer fan intrudes into the softness.

Soon the HEPA filters will come on as the timers dictate. Already I can feel the itching in the eyes and the nasal drip building. I have become one of THEM … people with allergies. Each day it is a bout with allergy pills, netti-pots, cassock air filters and frequent trips back indoors for relief.

Still have a turf tire to repair this morning after breakfast. Need to run it into town and get a pro to seat it. Mowing looms large in my week.

But now, for this moment, it is me, you, coffee and the cottony softness of morning in rural Texas.

Good morning!



The first day of the week

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Well, again this morning, I eat, I get ill for a time afterwards. There is something wrong with the old GI system. Going to try a few more home remedy’s before taking the problem to the cut-it-out or burn-it-out people.I wouldn’t think that waffles would turn on me. It is like an old friend on Sunday mornings.

Sunday is my cooking day. I have a good deal with Snookums. I cook, she cleans. You can’t beat that! She doesn’t mind kitchen work, but she hates meal planning. I hate washing dishes and cleaning up. So she gets a break from meal planning, and I get the ooohs and ahhhs for doing what Snookums does every day with very little credit.

It is the first bright, warm and dry day of spring we have had this year. The trees are all leafed out, the swards are full of wildflowers, and a third single wide trailer house is set on my neighbors three acres out back.


He put the ugliest trailer next to the road for all to see who drive by. Gone are the days when I could walk out on the back deck in my skivvies, coffee cup in hand, and take in the first light of day. Pah! Progress! Who needs it?

Kippur happily burbles in his cage. He has taken to mocking the mocking birds. Sunday, when snookums makes her daylight rounds, she puts his bathtub in the cage, opens the blinds, and the two of them greet the day. He is the only bird I have ever seen that rolls over on his back to bathe.

I still have a tire to fix on the riding mower. I think that will be the first item of the day. I am going to have to get the pros at the tire shop to inflate the tire for the first time, though. I don’t have the tools to expand the tire to get it to seal properly on the rims.

It will be two more weeks ’til my bigger and better lawn tractor arrives, but the yard can’t wait that long.

Not much on the blogs today. WordPress always was quiet on the weekends, Blogger isn’t very social, but I do have a few friends that post there, but the inbox there is pretty bare this morning, and I think this is art-something day on Blogster, so I flip thru and look at the pretty pictures and that is about the end of my morning browsing.

And the day wears on, and the days exigencies nag at me. I’ll never get anything done if I stay on the keyboard all day.

Good morning!