Crumby's Fungi - Exides glandulosa

Er. Red says we need a picture to create venue balance. Here's Exides glandulosa. It's somewhat dessicated in the picture. I was supposed to get Raymone to take its picture when it was swollen up, but I couldn't find Raymone. Then I forgot. By the time I remembered to take its picture it was partially dried out from having the sun shine on it and a cold north wind blowing on it for a few hours. Sometimes it appears, plumper, like it did when I was supposed to take its picture in the first place. This jelly mushroom commonly habitates on rotten logs in these parts. It is edible at least once.

A great many responsibilities devolve upon the weary shoulders of an ovate like myself. For instance, tomorrow I see myself doing some sweeping and mopping of the dusty corridors. Yepper. Complaints and even whining have reached my recently sickly ears regarding the great volume achieved by a dust bunny or two. But lo, I explain to the whiners. Always remember that though a dust bunny may achieve a great volume, its mass shall ever remain of no account. But alas, a wise observation similar to the interesting relationship between dust bunny mass and volume only momentarily lifts all the miserable burdens off me for an instant, maybe. Then, once that moment or instant passes along down the dusty corridors of time, those burdens fall back on me more crushingly than ever. Yea verily, I am stooped under the great volume of dust bunnies that may afflict me tomorrow.

On the other hand, I shall be conducting some interesting scientific experiments on some of the moderate-volume dust bunnies. That's something I certainly look forward to, once I have those particular dust bunnies corralled.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Bury Those Quitters

Ahem. Having had the effrontery to query my sister upon the subtopic, What are you and Crumby up to?, I am now minding my own business with regard to all that. Obviously, it’s none of my business. Even though it involves both my only known sister and my bosom companion. All righty then, for that, for the nonce. Once I wax to full blown Sun God status, I shall shed some light on all that.

Meantime, Crumby and I went to a movie. So now we shall feature a special movie review edition of that particular movie, the very famous Red River, also known as Bury Those Quitters. Crumby and I both surmised that current events dictated a special edition movie review of Bury Those Quitters.

Bury Those Quitters, the movie, is a rip-off of Mutiny on the Bounty. It’s exactly the same spell with three minor departures. One minor departure is, instead of bread-fruit trees getting toted hither and yon, cows are drove, hither and yon. The second minor difference is, the Sun God Trainee in Mutiny on the Bounty splits totally, whereas the Sun God Trainee in Bury Those Quitters reunites with the One Big God, as asshole buddies for eternity. The third minor difference is the Goddess. The Goddess is portrayed as an idiot in Bury Those Quitters. So it’s no wonder that minor difference two, see above, comes into play.

But since many ignoramuses don’t have a clue about the spell, Mutiny on the Bounty, perhaps I should identify what these twain spells, both the original and the rip-off, involve, thematically. The theme is, you are supposed to finish what you start, especially if you promised to finish what you started, before you started. If you quit, you get buried, or at least whipped. Or, to put it another way, let’s say you are a simple sod of the earth, a regular working class honker, who takes an oath. That oath must be fulfilled, no matter what happens after you take the oath. Generally, simple sods of the earth, sometimes now known as honkers, when they oath, oath to a One God or a Kingly type, who punishes oath breakers with burying, or at least a good whipping. So before you take an oath you should think ahead to cover all potential eventualities that might be unendurable. A likely eventuality is that the One God or Kingly type may not have your actual welfare at heart and may come to think of you as a simple machine, or as a malingerer or whiner, or easily replaceable, or no-account because you fuss about your situation after taking an oath. But never mind that. Oaths are generally taken on the spur of the moment during times of great excitement and irrationality, or when “it can’t get any worse than this.” So you probably won’t employ whatever ovational skills you may innately possess before you take that oath. You’ll be too over wrought, to think. So you shall take an oath. Then, if you don’t follow through on your oath, you’ll get yourself buried or whipped, or maybe just die trying, accidentally. Or maybe events shall play out OK.

The odds that events shall play out OK are very often dependent on the state of mind of the One God Kingly type. Mostly, simple sods of the earth, US working class type honkers, believe that the One God Kingly type knows what he’s doing. We have Faith in Him. But the One God Kingly type may go crazy, or get switched out during your oath-fulfilling process, and replaced by an ignoramus or even by a Mammonite liar and glutton. Oopsy-daisy, the odds that events shall play out OK, just headed south.

So here’s some free advice from the Druids in these parts. If the odds head south, run off with the Goddess.

The wepubwican wevolwution - Boring Political Commentary by Mr. Red Ears, Translated into English by Dr. Rayetta Pistrum, Ph. D.

The republican revolution is a continuing major success, having achieved its goal of rendering the US government dysfunctional in all areas save one. That one most important area of success, the disbursement of everyone’s tax money to republican revolutionaries and their ruling class sponsors, has worked out swell. Yippee!!!!

Many complain that the republican revolutionaries promised to down-size big government and end big governments intrusion into our private lives.. Yet the government, under the republican revolutionaries grew bigger than ever, and way more potentially intrusive. But that’s OK. Though the government is way bigger than ever, it’s also hopelessly dysfunctional. So the chance that it will actually intrude into anyone’s life, or mess up their way of life, especially the life of a republican revolutionary, or the way of life of a ruling class republican revolutionary sponsor, is incredibly remote. But accidents do happen.

Happily, even though bigger government is dysfunctional, the revolutionary republicans have brought private industry in to fix things up. Private industry is just that, industry performed in private. It’s great because nobody can see what you’re up to. You could maybe need a hard-earned break from your private industry, and spend a couple of hours in the Port-a-Can, simultaneously socking a thousand tax dollars an hour away, and no one would know the difference. It’s private industry. And since the government is dysfunctional, nobody will check up on you, probably.

Yepper. Down here in Tejas, the republican revolutionaries are totally jubilant, wallowing in the success of their revolution. Soon, Tejas shall achieve independence, again, assuming a rightful position as the globe’s most electrified sovereign third-world country or whatever.

Just How Much Wile Does Sun God Training, Confer on a Typical Trainee?

Ray and Crumby, are ensconced upon their respective favorite recliners, digesting their cinnamon buns.

How was your cinnamon bun, Crumby?

Like you say, Ray, delicious, almost as delicious as those apricot fried pies you got fer me to counter balance my delirium.

What the heck are you up to with my sister, Crumby?

Er. I am collaborating with the Lovely Druidess on an area specific butterfly tome, largely against my will. That spelled, the Lovely Druidess is making my efforts, worthwhile.

Really! And what, might I ask are you getting out of your, efforts, Crumby?

I got a treat.

What kind of a dang treat?

Er. Just a treat, maybe. Er. Lookee here, it’s our dextrous, semi-arboreal pal, Lomo, arrived in the nick of time. How are you hanging, Lomo? Isn’t the proto human mating season coming up, anon? Do you think you’ll attract a mate this season with those wonderful acrobatic displays, punctuated by those great ape vocalizations. Those rituals sure spice up interest levels in the pecan orchard. Lomo, I surmise your brow ridge may be thickening a tad. Er. Yepper.

Lovely Druidess Rayetta say you come along now, Crumby!

All righty then. Where to?

You come now!

All righty then, Lomo, you don’t have to always drag me along. Dang it! Unhand me, dang it! Bye Ray. Thanks for the cinnamon bun.

Adios muchacho. Hmmm.

Ray’s Many Thoughts for the Day - A Major Precipitation Update

The guage or gauge has 1.7", in it, at this nonce. That means the final meaningless annual total for this trip around the Julian is, er, 21.6" + 1.7" = 23.3", the final totality, maybe. But let’s try to make some sense of all these meaningless statistics. Imbolc, our Winter Weed Festival is upcoming. We had good rain, 4.2", in the last couple of weeks. For the first time in a great long while we had some surface pooling of the rainfall indicating a tiny bit of soil saturation, enough to give the winter weeds, now clapping their hands in great joy, a boost. So we shall enjoy a happy or merry Imbolc, fer sure, Goddess Willing.

I was so cheered by my visit to the guage or gauge and cheered also that our tiny globe is exhibiting perihelion, that I actually read somewhat in What Passes for A Daily Newspaper in These Parts. Our well-coifed governor, has a remark or two, in it today, headed up by, “For economic and border security, state needs guest workers”. Three of these remarks stick out so I shall spell them here, out of context. 1) devastate our economy, 2) help build our economy, 3) compromise our economy.

Yep, our well-coifed governor, from personal experience of the situation, knows who does nearly all the grubby yet maybe honest work in these parts, and it’s not the likes of him. Anyway, our well-coifed governor, utilizing his yell leader experience, is yelling for $100 million to secure our Tejas border. Whoa! That’s extreme. Let’s see now, I believe that will go to pay for hooking the border up to an electric video grid system. Who will monitor the system? Easy that, lobbyists put off their feed by the recent fiasco in Washington, DC.

Hark! It’s almost time for my delicious cinnamon bun. I shall treat Crumby again, for I greatly desire to learn what’s going on with Crumby and my sister. Perhaps, using the wilier parts of my Sun God training, I shall wily that out of him.

Ray's Thought for the Day - The Meaningless Annual Precipitation Total

Dad gum it. I need to leave weather prognosticating to the ovates. I figured my annual total would stand up, but there was I, happily yanking up bur clovers when the rain sent me skittering along inside. So yet again, anon, I shall have to update the dang meaningless annual total. I need to come up with a scientifically and Druidically based system that will lend some meaning to all this statistical confusion.

Uh oh. A DNS alert is coming in.

US Culture Today!!!! A Newsy News Feature intermittently provided by the Druid News Service (DNS). We're Fixing to Hang US, a Mammonite.

Land sakes alive! Hello boys and regular people. This is Ms. Hope Remains, Ace Reporter coming at you live from Miserable Baghdad, the Miserable Capital of Occupied Miserable Iraq. Praise the Goddess, we are fixing to hang US a Mammonite.

Goodness gracious! Any day now our brave interrogators shall turn the hapless former potentate of miserable Iraq, Saddam, over to the miserable Iraqi government. The miserable Iraqi government shall then hang that Mammonite from a gallows just like poor Tom Dooley was formerly hung. And just like poor Tom Dooley, Saddam the Mammonite, is bound to die, sooner or later.

Yep. Saddam the Hapless Mammonite has been fairly tried, maybe, and convicted of being a mass murderer. One theoretical justification for hanging him high is that other local Mammonite potentates will learn something or other from Saddam's fate and not murder a bunch of potential hired hands without checking with the global Mammonite potentates, first. Maybe this will make the local Mammonite potentates nervous, but maybe not. Whatever.

Boom!

Goodness gracious! Fireworks! The miserable Iraqis are celebrating. OK. The DNS is about to have our electricity cut off. And since the WG abandoned this habitat long ago, I need to bug out. Where shall I go from here? Easy that, the White Palace, headquarters of Our Ignoramus Kinglet. This is Ms. Hope Remains, Ace Reporter, signing off. Watch out for the Wicker Man!!!!
_____

All righty then. Hope shall return to the Homeland, anon. I always worry when she's off in foreign parts. Especially parts abandoned by the WG long ago. Meantime, my sister and Crumby have finished RAYETTA'S BUTTERFLY CHECKLIST FOR THE CB, the blank version. It should be good for blocks around the CB, featuring every butterfly collected in Travis County since Heck was a Pup. Oddly, my sister and my bosom companion are not fussing like formerly. Er. Both Crumby and Rayetta are prone to be fastidious. What the heck are they up to?

Ray's Thought for the Day - I Pity the Poor Polar Bears

I pity the poor polar bears. Yep, the poor polar bears have to go extinct, separated out of nature, to protect the Kinglet's way of life. Soon the only polar bears left in these parts will be habitating in zoos. Hopefully, the zoo polar bears will enjoy cages with air conditioning.

Praise the Goddess! It sure would be terrible if the only thing standing between Sun God trainees and extinction, was the Kinglet's, Mammonite environmental policies.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Where's My Modem Gone!

Yesterday I got a message from the computer that said, paraphrasing, This computer does not have a modem. Checking up on this alarming pronouncement, since the box has been unopened and the stinking box came with a modem inside, I found that according to Device Manager, the computer still had a modem, but no com ports. That's right, no com ports.

Checking further, and remembering that my old dog sleep walks and got stuck under the computer desk while sleep walking, I decided to check all the wiring. The wiring seemed OK, but I fiddled with all of it anyway.

Ha! Miraculously the modem worked again, or perhaps, re-appeared. But I didn't get a message from the computer telling me, hey Ray, yer modems back, or elaborating on, where it went.

Let's see now, after I acheive full Sun God status, who is going to catch hell?

Rayetta's Butterflies - The Darn Checklist

Hmmm. I have this document all set up and I'm all the way through Systasea pulverulenta. That's the end of page four of the Travis County Butterfly Checklist, compiled by someone named Mike Quinn. I have omitted all the butterflies but those butterflies noted as specimen records. Nevertheless I have a very long list. And now I want to go shopping. Hmmm. It's all set up now. Any knucklehead could type in the rest of the names. Even Crumby could do the rest of them without getting so aggravated he might do payback if I make him finish it up.

We're ready Rayetta!

Hmmm. Hope and Olwen are ready to go shopping. Lomo, go get Crumby.

Lomo, go get Crumby?

Yes Lomo, go get Crumby. He's probably either fooling around in the laboratory or fooling around with his telescopery gear. When you find him, tell him to get in my office pronto. Hmmm. Also tell Crumby that if he gets in here pronto and does what I tell him to do, efficiently and without whining, that he will get a nice treat after I check over his effort and I see that he's accomplished his effort to my satisfaction. Do you understand all that, Lomo?

Lomo go get Crumby!

Lomo ambles off, his sensory apparati attuned to the potential location of the Crumby Ovate. Lomo has a search image.

Come on Rayetta!

Hold your horses. I need to give Crumby some instructions.

Ray-etta!

Stop that hollering. Here he is now. That's better. Hello Crumby. Thanks Lomo. Bye Lomo. Crumby finish this list up and I'll give you a nice treat you'll never forget, anon. I'm going shopping. If you get finished by the time I get back, you'll get your treat. Just do it exactly like I have been doing it. OK. Bye.

All righty then. I shall apply myself to this task efficaciously enough. What am I doing?

It's all right there, Crumby, finish typing that checklist. Do it just like I've been doing it. See, there's plenty of Rows already set up. Just type in the names. Leave the rest blank.

Ray-et-ta!

Jeez Louise! Gotta go Crumby. Remember, you get a special treat.

All righty then. Where'd you get all these interesting names from Rayetta?

Ray-et-ta, we're fixing to leave, you!

Gotta go Crumby. You'll figure it out. Bye.

Er. All righty then. Bye Rayetta. What do I get?

But the Lovely Druidess has sashayed on off with the other ladies and Crumby will have to finish the task before he finds out what his nice treat, is.

Crumby's Worst Day and Ray's Precipitation Update

Please, please, WG, spare me more aggravation than I may be able to bear up under. Mercy! Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!!!!

Later.

Ha! I'm still here. I am spared again, for the nonce. What's more, I appear to have retained my recently resurrected olfactory skills for the nonce. That's two for the nonce, fer me, survival and olfactory sensibility. I can smell something or other right now, Praise the Goddess.

Hark! Here's Ray. Ray! Here I am Ray, back to normal, as average a bosom companion as any might desire. Plus I have retained the ability to smell stuff folowing this metamorphosis to normalcy and averageness.

Yepper. I can see that you are way more normal and average than you were yesterday, Crumby. You need to move over though so I can spell the precipitation update.

All righty then, Ray. I shall move on over.

Ahem. This is perhaps the most significant rainfall event ever recorded at the CB. That's becasue a great quantity of rain fell at a time of great need. We got 2.5" and we needed every drop. So that roars us up from 19.1" to 21.6" for the annual nonce. Looks like 21.6" will be the final total for this ring of the Julian too.

Rainfall per year is a useless statistic.

Ray's Thought for the Day - A Regular Inundation

Yippee! The rain, beginning yesterday morning, fell through the long night, and continues for the nonce, falling. I shall, once I am certain it has stopped falling, check the guage or gauge and revise the annual total accordingly, upward. Earlier, I noted 2.15" already constrained. The little CB seedlings are clapping their hands for joy.

Why lookee here, it's my especially smart sister, Rayetta, accompanied by the burly yet agile Lomo. Top of the morning to ye.

Hmmm. Ray, why is Lleu Llaw sitting on top of Crumby on that cot? And why is Crumby fettered like that.

Crumby had a panic attack, so we had to tie him up. It's Lleu Llaw's turn to sit on him. We have a schedule.

Hmmm. Lleu Llaw, can you type in English?

Doubtless, I am pre-adapted to those skills requiring a steady hand.

That's not what I asked you Lleu Llaw. Answer my question.

No, Lovely Druidess Rayetta, but doubtless I am pre-adapted for just that skill when a steady hand on the keyboard is required.

It takes both hands Lleu Llaw. One uses both hands, not just one. Jeez Louise! I can't believe I'm having this conversation. Lleu Llaw you have been spending too much time with Crumby. So get off him for Goddess Sakes, now!

If I get up off my master he is liable to injure himself or loose himself from his fetters and wreak a terrible storm of destruction hereabouts.

But Lleu Llaw has aggravated the Lovely Druidess, not folowing her directions expeditiously, and soon finds himself not only levitated off Crumby, but clean out of the laboratory and deposited in the dusty hallway outside.

Lleu Law stands slack jawed at the door.

Run along Lleu Llaw. Go fool around with the great red tube. I'm too busy to put up with any more of your highjinks.

Lleu Llaw prisses off, rubbing his stretched ears, thoughtfully.

Hmmm. For Goddess Sakes. Crumby stop that wiggling. Now I have to take time out of my busy schedule to spell Crumby. There now, that's better. Ray, Crumby is now calmed down. You may remove his fetters, anon. But meantime, where the heck is Raymone? Lomo has failed in his mission to sniff out Raymone. According to Lomo, the scent of that Frenchman is not to be detected high or low within the confines of the CB, anywhere.

Lomo not smiff Raymone!

Yes, that's correct Lomo. You could not sniff out Raymone.

Er. It's like this Rayetta. I felt bad, thinking that Raymone might get captured by La Migra, despite his usual invisibility. You know, a sniffer dog might get on his trail and alert the authorities. So what I did was, contact the Joke Factory to see if Nancy or Mary or Karl or somebody over there was working on a spell or potion that could render Raymone unsmellable. A while back, Mary the Virgin sent over a Druid sample only of Undetectable Aroma Powder. At least that's what the label spelled. Anyway, Raymone must have found the Druid sample only, Undetectable Aroma Powder and tried it out.

Hmmm. So Ray, how are we ever going to find Raymone? Yikes!!!! There you are, Raymone!

Ces't moi, Raymone, Madamoiselle Rayetta.

Raymone, can you type in English?

Merci, no, Madamoiselle Rayetta.

Swell. Hmmm. Well, I'll just do the checklist myself, per usual. Come on Lomo.

Lomo come on?

Yes Lomo, come on, we have work to do. Ray, don't forget to untie Crumby, for Goddess Sakes!!!!

Rayetta's Butterflies - With All the To Do

going on in these parts, principally the rain, and helping my brother with his satire issues, I forgot to mention that we had a new butterfly documentation at the CB. The newly documented is a fiery skipper (Hylephila phyleus), maybe. The photographs of the little dickens are a tad sad. That little rascal proved impossible to focus on under the hurried conditions I was operating under. Nevertheless, Crumby and I agree, after careful study of the photographs, that it it most likely a female fiery skipper. Praise the Goddess, the female fiery skipper has a fairly distinctive, orange upper hind wing pattern and the little darling has its hind wings spread out in one of the photos.

Hmmm. I need a Travis County butterfly checklist with the months of the year columns blank so I can keep track of which ones of my butterflies show up each month. But I certainly don't wish to type one myself, even an electric one. I could possibly make Crumby do it, but typing anything of that complexity might take him weeks and he might become so resentful and frustrated that he might do payback. Ray types a lot better than Crumby, but he is so far behind on his other chores that I can't make him do it. Hope is fixing to go off again on her ace reporter duties and Olwen can't type. Neither can Red. Lomo can type, but he can't spell. Whom shall I send for? Hmmm.

Lomo, go find Raymone.

Lomo go find Raymone?

Yes Lomo, I need to see Raymone right away. He may be hiding, and invisible, so if you have to, rely on your keen proto human sense of smell to sniff him out. Do you understand all that Lomo?

Lomo go sniff out Raymone!

The proto human, Lomo, ambles off down the dusty hallway, already sniffing around for Raymone, the nearly always invisible, illegal French alien.

Hmmm. I'll have to make sure Raymone can type in English before I delegate this important responsibility.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Adapting to Keep Yourself Entertained

Yepper, adapting to situations is a big positive if you're queued or cued up in a line at a vendors. Today, after we secured our delicious cinnamon buns and had them safely tucked away, Crumby and me found ourselves in line at the Pure Luck Goat Farm stall. I'm not sure why we were in that line up, but we were.

Lined up right ahead of us was a big, black, wooly, overweight dog, a collie of sorts, with a long collie nose. This particular lady collie was working at keeping herself entertained, adapting to the situation, as it were. For right under the lady collie's long nose was a plastic pail wherein all the patrons of the Pure Luck Goat Farm were wont to dispose of the little plastic cups containing free samples of the vended goat dairy products.

So this lady collie was busy. She gingerly reached over into the pail, using her long nose to great and dextrous advantage, and removed a plastic sample cup. Then she sat that cup on the ground and gave the insides a good going over with her tongue. That cup was soon licked clean. And with a stiff wind blowing out of the northeast, the sample cup blew off to become what is known in these parts as, litter. The lady collie nosed out another sample cup. Lickety split, she licked it out and the wind disposed of that evidence, too. And another, and yet another sample cup was likewise disposed of in like manner.

These antics of the big fat lady collie are the very type antics that are liable to reduce Crumby and me to hysterics. So we were smiling and chortling happily by the time the lady human supervising the lady collie noticed that her dog was getting into the trash. Plus it was our turn to make a purchase almost. But neither one of us could remember why we were in the Pure Luck Goat Farm line up. Off we went then, on the long trek back to the CB, happily looking forward to our upcoming gustatory encounter with our delicious cinnamon buns.

Happy or Merry, Mammonmas!

Praise the Goddess! Nearly all us Druids here at the CB had a merry, happy and interesting Winter Solstice. The single exception was Ray, my bosom companion. During most of the holiday, Ray was merry and happy, but for some of it he was tormented, maybe needlessly. However, even for Ray, all the holiday long was, interesting. And, we are all looking forward to Imbolc and our corresponding Winter Weed Festival.

But many of the Christians, Muslims and Jews, oh my, they’ll be at it to the end, ignored the important Winter Solstice entirely. I bet a vast majority of them don’t even know there was a Winter Solstice. Noper, most of that crowd knows nothing about nature and could care less. They’ll miss out on Imbolc too, entirely.

But harking back to former days when I was an ignoramus Christian, I can remember when the baby Jesus gave me a BB gun for Christmas. In those bygone days, the baby Jesus personally delivered all the presents to good little boys, like me. As soon as baby Jesus pulled my new BB gun out of his swaddling clothes and forked it over, I went out and shot some sparrows with my new BB gun. My eidatic memory reveals that they were members of the genus Spizella. I am very sorry I shot those sparrows to this day. That was shameful, ignorant behavior. Shame on me.

Let’s see though. Where am I? Er. Yepper, tis the season to be jolly, ho- ho- horama. Off everyone goes, shopping. Naturally maybe, most of us feel like we need to give the economy a boost this time of year and buy more stuff. In the spirit of giving, we give all the stuff we buy, away. But that’s OK because the way it works is, we get stuff too, presents. But you may recall who is actually in charge of the economy. Yep, that’s right, the Demon Mammon is in charge of the economy. The Demon Mammon, plus all the his little helper Advertising Imps, are putting in all kinds of OT these days. They deserve some official recognition.

Go for it ecumenical boosters. Regardless of which Sun God sect you hold nominal membership in, you all worship Mammon. So cut the bullshit. Happy or merry, Mammonmas!!!!

Hark! Here’s my bosom companion, Ray. I see, Ray from the glow of your bright, shiny countenance that the possibly needless torment you suffered recently has abated.

Indeed, my bosom companion, my very smart sister contrived all that torment for my own good, and I have, as a result, navigated another whirlpool on the long swim or float to full matriculation. Just like Moses, I have been drawn from the water and my noggin is now avidly slurping upon the Ample Bosoms, just like Moses once slurped with his noggin.

Moses?

Yepper, my Sun God training has revealed that a Goddess has to remove a Sun God Trainee from the water as he swims or floats along in the treacherous waters toward the full matriculation that some call the birth of a star. Just like Moses, I am drawn from the water.

All righty then! That makes a lot of sense Ray. That’s the sunny side, Ray.

Yepper. Plus it’s time for my delicious cinnamon bun. Tell you what Crumby, you should accompany me, and I shall purchase a delicious cinnamon bun, that shall be every morsel as delicious a cinnamon bun as my delicious cinnamon bun, fer ye.

All righty then!!!!

Rayetta's Butterflies - Return of the Queen

No, I'm not referring to me. Rather a queen butterfly turned up at the CB today for the first time in weeks. All righty then. All the boys started whining because I was making Crumby use all their Dolmen for butterfly food. So I had to nip all that whining in the bud. And I thought, well my butterflies need some beer so maybe instead of making Crumby brush the beer on logs, where it would quickly evaporate, I could fix my butterflies up with a little beer receptacle. I thought and thought and while I was thinking away I chanced to come across an empty pail of Max Cat adult cat chow. Hmmm. The lid is bright orange, that should be attractive, and shallow, so my butterflies are unlikely to drown in it. If set upright on a flat surface it should suffice, nicely. So that's what I did, set all that up.

In two shakes of a lamb's tail this queen arrived for a delectable libation. How about that!

Now also I have been sashaying around in the Indiangrass. We have lots of Indiangrass (Sorghastrum nutans) at the CB. Fritillaries seem to like the Indiangrass a lot. They seem to prefer to enjoy sexual intercourse in the Indiangrass. Here, these Gulf Fritillaries are, one on top of the other, back to back, in the Indiangrass.

Crumby Speculates - Advertising, Does It Work?

There I was, hurtling along in the stygian darkness, headed off in the general direction of the Tabby Lab, our bucolic Druid college in these parts. I was on an urgent errand, undertaken at the behest of the Lovely Druidess Rayetta. My faithful servant, Lleu Llaw Guffes, the Lion of the Steady Hand had his steady hand on the wheel of the great vehicle, negotiating the great vehicle this way or that so that we might stay on the road.

After a while I wearied of fretting over whether Lleu Llaw actually has a driver’s license or insurance and began to Ovate. But no Ovations came to mind. So then I gazed out the window of the great vehicle, hurtling along, gazing into the stygian darkness lit up only by only a billion electric lights. I began to think, furiously. But two topics were competing for attention within my capacious noggin; advertising, does it work, versus the Camelidae of South America; alpaca, guanaco and llama of Genus Lama and the vicuna of Genus Vicugna.

The guanaco is the presumed wild ancestor of the domesticated alpaca and llama. Guanaco life is made miserable these days by human persecution and colonialism, so that the numbers and distribution of these gentle camels has greatly abated. The same fate has overtaken the vicuna.

Interestingly, the llama has the distinction of being the only native new world beast of burden, domesticated to donkey status by the Incas, long ago. These days, llamas must compete with motorized vehicles to keep their jobs, so just like US Homeland Proles, they are in decline. Happily, some lucky llamas are popular as pets. The alpaca, on the other hand, is increasing by leaps and bounds, valued as it is, for its fleece.

No doubt, the alpaca fleece industry advertises garments curried from the fleece of the fortunate alpaca. But so far, I, the Crumby Ovate, have not been specifically targeted by the alpaca industry as a likely purchaser of alpaca mittens. Why not? Maybe they have tried, but not succeeded in contacting me. After all, vendors attempting to invade the CB, electrically, are automatically cursed with genital warts. Or maybe I do not fall within their demographic purview of likely alpaca fleece consumers.

Advertising, does it work? The assumption is, maybe, that everyone has to buy necessary stuff, like water, food, new underwear, transportation and shelter. But suchlike paltry purchasing could never expand the economy at the frenetic pace necessary to support an advertising industry. No, no, no, advertising focuses our attentions on purchasing the unnecessary, but newer and more luxurious or ingenious items that we all so desire, like, for example, health insurance, or a Cadillac pickup that parallel parks itself.

But does advertising work? What proportion of an increase in the Homeland Gross National Product is demonstrably attributable to advertising, apart from the increase directly attributable to growth in the advertising industry itself? Does anybody know?

In all the long annals of Druidry, only one Druid was ever afflicted, distally, by advertising and he was a mere Bard who had not completed his training. Anyway, off he went to earn his keep, singing songs for the bourgeoisie in those parts. His wages included free Dolmens. So after a time of singing melodically and guzzling up one Dolmen after another, he needed to go to the comfort station. But he got mixed up and went to a closet instead. When he opened the closet door, a multitude of boxed up ladies’ shoes fell on him. Happily, the young Bard took only a glancing blow to his noggin and was only partially buried in the sudden blizzard of ladies’ shoes.

So adverting may work. That’s why I am considering a new career as a ladies’ shoe salesman.

Happy, Merry, Interesting Winter Solstice!!!!

Yepper, a happy, merry, interesting winter solstice to all, we both know and like.

Ray's Precipitation Update, Plus a Fly Guide

18.95" + 0.15" = 19.1". That brings us up to date for the annual nonce. Mercy! But you get what you can take, maybe.

As everyone knows, Sun Gods, after an extensive training period, eventually learn how to keep the rain from falling on them. So far, I have trained up sufficiently that a light drizzle may not afflict me. Actual rain though, still may get on me. But now I have learned about a secret location where some magical garments are kept, raincoats as it were, and I can use those until I advance to the rain deflection level that precedes full matriculation to Sun God.

But getting back to flies, Order Diptera, I am eagerly looking forward to the day when an interested party, such as myself, has access to "The Global Compendium of Flies, Order Diptera". This wonderful but slender tome shall have digital photographs of all the globe's flies, including each metamorphosis of each and every kind of fly, descriptions of the habitat of every, egg, maggot and adult, range maps, their nutrition requirements, an easy to use, meticulously illustrated dichotomous key and a checklist.

Come on scientists. Give the public what it wants so desperately, a fly guide.

Uh, oh. Why if it isn't my famous sister. Howdy do, Rayetta.

Hmmm. I see, Ray, that you are satirizing my butteflies again. So now is the perfect time to demonstrate the limitations of satire. Let's see, this nice demonstration should have witnesses. Oh my goodness. Look who has come to witness the limitations of satire, Ray. It is your twain girlfriends and part-time Sun God Trainee instructors, Ms. Hope Remains, Ace Reporter, and Ms. Olwen White Track, Moon Goddess. Why isn't it just too curious that the three of us ladies are now assembled with you in the laboratory. Isn't that interesting, Ray?

Yepper. Howdy do my beautiful twain girl friends.

Hello Ray. Hello Ray.

Now Ray, did you know that sometimes I have a yen to do this or that just because I can?

Er. That's not fair Rayetta. You shoudn't be going there. That's wicked.

Maybe it is Ray, but maybe not. Can't you think of a circumstance in which even your sister, provoked beyond sufferance, should do this or that just because she can?

Ray, catching the drift of the Lovely Druidess, panics.

Help, help, help me twain girlfriends. Ray begs.

But for answer, the twain girlfriends' eyes glitter like three fifties of naked celestial bodies that some call, stars.

Mercy! Mercy Rayetta! I was only kidding around. Help, help, help me Crumby, save me, come save me, my bosom companion. Ray hollers.

Crumby can not save you Ray. Crumby does not have the power to save you. Besides, Crumby, monitored by Lleu Llaw, is on his way to the Tabby Lab to pick up some Lepidoptera tomes. Crumby is such a good boy, lately. So you see Ray, this is just between you and me.

Red, Red, help me Red. Rayetta is tormenting me, needlessly. Help, help me. Ray hollers even louder than before. His plaintive cry, help, help me, echoes up and down the dusty hallways.

Red can not save you Ray. Red is gone to the Joke Factory to visit with Nancy. So you see, Ray, it's just us twain.

Then I shall use my newly awakened Sun God Trainee powers to fend you off, Rayetta. Stand back, or I shall surely cow you sister, with my radiance.

Ha! Your Sun God Trainee Powers can not save you Ray. Have you already forgotten what day it is? Ha! It is the Winter Solstice, when even the mighty, yet fickle, Ogma wanes ridiculously. No Sun God tricks can save you today, Ray.
_____

Then the Lovely Druidess Rayetta does some really humiliating stuff to her brother as payback for Ray's satire. But we can't specify what that humiliating stuff is, because all that really humiliating stuff touches upon our Secret Druidic Mysteries.

The Ark Druid

Ray's Thought for the Day - Weather Report

The guage or gauge may have sufficient rain water and bug piss in it, so that I shall have to update the annual, total. It's been fixing to drizzle in these parts, or maybe it has drizzled somewhat. But how would I know? Sun God Training has made me impervious to drizzle. No drizzle can get closer than a hand's breadth to me, these days.

Rayetta's Butterflies - Enjoying Sexual Intercourse

Yep, my butterflies were at it like rabbits today, enjoying sexual intercourse under Ogma's fickle gaze. Or, as Crumby might spell, fornicating. This pair of Variegated Fritillaries is cryptic enough at the stage of their liason shown below. But they also flew around in the air while enjoying sexual intercourse which was notably not cryptic. Actually, one of them flew around and the other one, hung down. I am unsure which one is the female.

I did not know, or maybe I just forgot, that butterflies enjoy sexual intercourse in this odd position, sort of, back to back. In fact, in two of the three species with copulating individuals observed today, the copulators were back to back. The others were Gulf Fritillaries. Maybe, just fritillaries enjoy sexual intercourse, back to back.

Some of the Ubiquitous Snouts were also enjoying sexual intercourse. But I couldn't keep up with them to see what the heck they were doing. Whatever they do, it works.

Four or possibly five sulphur species were flying at the CB today; dainty, sleepy orange, little yellow, orange and this one. It's the possible one. It's possible because this is the best shot I could get of it. But Crumby and I think it's a female large orange sulphur (Phoebis agarithe). If it is, that makes eight sulphur species at the CB. Not all the Sulphurs at the CB are documented.

Did you know that Gulf fritillaries like grapefruit?

Crumby and the Upcoming Solstice

Times can be trying, even for an Ovate like myself. Not only am I stuck on a tiny planet where the dominant life form is bent on exterminating all life on the tiny planet, I’m on, but in addition to that, the White Goddess tests my worthiness to continue at this juncture, annually. The test period varies in duration, but the Winter Solstice demarcates the middle of the test period, or maybe a little past the middle. During this period of trial, even more than the rest of the time, I need to keep myself happily entertained even more than is normal, fer me. Otherwise, I may fail the test.

The Winter Solstice occurs as our tiny planet tilts, with the part I am on, tilting as far as it can get from Ogma Sunface. So Ogma, at noontime on the 21st, is as southerly as he’s going to get with respect to me. He’s gone south, as they say. Gradually, after noon on the 21st, the part of the tiny planet I am on will tilt closer and closer to the fickle Ogma, until it gets closest on the Summer Solstice. By then, temperatures in these parts shall be waxing Beelzebubberrific, assuming Beezlebub's habitat is as hot as many claim.

OK. In addition to the beaver log that Rayetta mentioned yesterday, another object of our idolatry at the CB is our recently acquired Galileo Gravitator. Here in this picture, the Galileo Gravitator is shown in normal room light. That’s Mercury, or as we prefer to reference him, Lugh the Lightbringer, taped on top. Lugh has flown out to visit with Saturn, that we prefer to reference as Bran the Blessed.

Why has Lugh flown out over many furlongs of airless space to visit with Bran? Easy that, he wearies of his hot, quick laps around Ogma once in a while and takes off on a vacation. Plus he needs some reassurance from an older hand, like Bran, that Ogma is not likely to wax too fickle and burn him up.

This second picture indicates the Galileo Gravitator set up in full idolatry mode. That’s how it looks at one of Our Secret Druidic Ceremonies. Pretty awesome, all righty then!!!!

Rayetta's Butterflies - Bait

My potent mixture of Dolmen Stout and brown sugar is apparently working, yet. The young buckeyes and a question mark all visited even today. Hmmm. I may have to make butterfly baiting a part of my very busy schedule, or delegate and closely monitor that task. That's it, Crumby can do it.

Check out the ventral surface hind-wing coloration on this young buckeye. I have never espied that color on any other young buckeye. I'd like to have a nice little jacket, or even a pretty little suit, of that precise color.

This young buckeye is (was) pumping its wings. That's why the photo is blurry, a limitation of point and shoot cameras. Hmmm. Do I need a suit that color, or a digital slr? Hmmm. Probably, I need the suit.

Crumby wanted me to mention that the beaver log, upon which the young buckeye is situated, is a Juniperus ashei or J. virginiana log of about 6" diameter. A beaver or beavers gnawed both ends of that particular log. Crumby was so impressed that a beaver, or beavers, would gnaw a Juniperus that he brought the log along home to the CB. We have incorporated this beaver log into several of our secret Druidic rituals.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Award

Today, I would like to present an award. The award goes to Tom Friedman, editorialist, New York Times. Tom gets the Highmost Sycophant Award for his concern over the Kinglet's Legacy and his early and enthusiastic contributions to the Miserable Iraqi Colonization. Way to go, Tom.

Hark! Here's my bosom companion. How about this award I gave Tom, Crumby?

I might have given it to Sleeza, Ray.

Tom's wind power editorial tipped it his way, Crumby. He's a good pick and deserves the recognition. Why without Tom, we might not have a kindly and compassionate globalization mythology emergent. Plus, Tom's a big fan of wising the Homeland workforce up, so every one of US that is gainfully employed shall soon be making labor value contributions to computer gaming and virtual security, our most important, recent contributions to the global technology.

Yepper. I see what you mean. Tom makes stuff up. Sleeza just parrots the Kinglet, leaving out the uh, uh, uhs. Tom's a better choice as Highmost Sycophant.

Mr. Red Ears, Senior CB Ovate and Proprietor, Ovates

The time has come to change the description of this venue, maybe. Suggestions from the ranks are:

1) Druid Commentary on the Death of Nature in These Parts

2) Here Comes the Wicker Man, Lickety Split

3) Nature at the CB, Our Last Stand

4) Please, Please, Help Me White Goddess, I Don't Deserve This

5) We Need to Move the CB to Cooler and Wetter Parts

6) Where Have All the Wonders Gone, Nuked by Pollution, Every One?

7) My Delicious Cinnamon Bun

8) Land Sakes Alive!!!!

9) I Am a Glittering Tear in Ogma's Eye

There were a good many more suggestions, but the general drift is clear. So that's upcoming while I ovate on it. Meantime, we have work to do.

Rayetta's December Butterflies - Red Admiral (Vanessa atalanta)

A fair number of butterflies were flying at the CB today. It's clear and hot, so that's why. The buckeyes were out in force. New ones, not that old drunkard I photographed yesterday. Those young buckeyes are both amorous and pugnacious. A little checkerspot, one that may be undocumented, and that I was interested in photographing, could find no surface on which to alight, chased as it was by the young buckeyes and the always pugnacious variegated fritillary. But then, after observing all these events for awhile I wandered into the pecan orchard and happened to cast my keen gaze upon a large limb that broke off not long ago. Two Red Admirals were fooling around way up there on the nub, possibly attracted to the oozing sap. However, even standing on the picnic table, even I, the Lovely Druidess Rayetta couldn't get a picture. Soon the twain red admirals departed and I knew not where.

Lomo, get over here and help me down off this picnic table, I cried out.

Lomo help Rayetta?

Yes Lomo, get over here and help me down.

Lomo help Rayetta down!

After I got helped down off the picnic table I began a systematic search for the red admirals and after about a minute I found this one alit on a trunk, rather high up, but not excessively high up. This time it proved to be a large tame butterfly, that's 1 - 1 on the Rayetta scales. For reference, it's head is down and facing the camera, very cryptic from my angle.

Catch Phrases for Imbeciles

We're fixing to "stabilize the violence."

Ray's Thought for the Day - Off Goes Rumpler

Off goes Rumpler, his tear-stained underwear perched on his old oily noggin. Yepper, Rumpler is gone off. What will he do now? Hopefully he will confine his antics to the Mammonite opining circuit, babbling at the ignorant and vulgar. But more likely, he will have a hand on the trickle down spigot, making sure plenty of trickle down drips on out to the always thirsting and hungering agents of global population control, plus our brave interrogators. Maybe, some of the trickle down will go towards teaching some of them Arabic. But more likely, considering Rumpler’s predilection for babble, most of the trickle down shall be intended for the netherworld of virtual security.

But I weary of all this. After all, Evil Vice Minister Chitlin opined that Rumpler was the greatest Secretary of Defense (SOD), ever. The Kinglet echoed Chitlin’s praise, Uh, uh, uh. Why worry? Let the Wicker Man sort it out.

I have my own problems to consider; potential chafing events, maintaining myself in good standing with two girl friends and a rambunctious sister, making good progress as a Sun God Trainee, keeping up with the CB calendar (uh oh), monitoring my bosom companion part time, the bur-clover crusade, a failing moisture regime in these parts (Effective Immediately- Critical Stage Drought, Water Restrictions - Enforced), and some other stuff I don’t have time to spell out in this venue. No wonder I need a delicious cinnamon bun once a week to keep me perked up.

Yepper. It’s that time again. Time to strap on the lead boots and head on out, adventuring onward until I gain my treasure, my delicious cinnamon bun.

Rayetta's December Butterflies - Common Buckeye (Junonia coenia) plus a November Surprise

Yepper. My sugaring for butterflies produced only one new butterfly. In fact, it produced only one butterfly, period. However, Ray's stupid Dipterans,and the Hymenoptera showed up in minor abundance. Saved by the Buckeye. This tattered individual put in its first photogenic appearance at the CB, supping upon my potent mixture of stale Dolmen and brown sugar. Praise the Goddess! This butterfly is big toward the small end and tame, due to inebriation. That's 1- - 1 on the Rayetta scales.

Crumby, Ray and Lleu Llaw are still out there monitoring the situation. Actually, Ray and Lleu Llaw are monitoring Crumby. Somebody though, needs to be monitoring Ray, also.

In addition to the Buckeye, I finally got an identifiable photograph of the dainty sulphur (Nathalis iole)today. It counts as a November butterfly. Sulphur diversity at the CB remains incompletely documented. In this instance, Lulu may have stunned the poor little thing, stepping on it. Whatever, this dainty sulphur is tiny and very nervous when not stunned, that's 3- - 3- on the Rayetta scales.

Which reminds me, Ray and Crumby have a pet that attacks my butterflies. It's name is Lulu. Lulu showed no interest in butterflies until I showed an interest in butterflies. Now she is after them. Lulu actually ate an Ubiquitous Snout before my very eyes. Imagine that! Lulu is another reason Ray needs some monitoring.

Bless his heart. Crumby wants to stay out there all night, to enjoy the smell of the stale Dolmen and sugar. Some, with no history of nasal impairment, might not understand Crumby's motivation.

Ray's Precipitation Update

Lomo, the next time you fix to give me an Indian burn, I shall surely singe the dang hair of your dang back. Dang it! I'm not kidding, Lomo. Dang it! Yeah, you big ape. Go tell Rayetta. Dang it!

Jeez Louise! Anyway, we are now up to 18.95 inches of rain for this turn of the wheel. Considering the scanty precipitation we have been blessed with, it's a good thing that Ogma Sunface recedes. But all that changes after noon of the upcoming Solstice. After that time, the fickle Ogma shall wax, not wane. So this is a good time to warn all you immigrants to these parts, Bring your own dang water.

Dad gum it. My arm still hurts. That dang Lomo is gonna get it next time. I'll barbecue that possum fer sure.

Uh. My new series "Flies I Espy, While Werkin' in the Sun" may be undergoing some slight format changes.

Rayetta Hales Forth Crumby and Ray

Hmmm. How annoying is this? My brother’s long love affair with the Scarlet Fly has clearly addled his pate. Lomo, go get Crumby.

Crumby on Ample Bosoms.

I know that Lomo. Go wake him up and haul him in here. Make sure he has some clothes on.

Lomo go get Crumby?

Yes Lomo. Go get Crumby. Be careful. You may need to disarm him. Once he’s unarmed, wake him up and put some clothes on him. Then bring him to me. Do you understand all that?

Lomo go get Crumby!

Soon Crumby finds himself awoken, disarmed, even his wand out of reach, and dragged along the dusty hallways of the CB to the office of the Lovely Druidess.

Dang it Rayetta. It aint close to 8 AM sharp at this nonce. Unhand me Lomo. Dang it!

Crumby you have been haled forth precipitously for a purpose.

Well I suspect that’s so Rayetta, dang it, but, er, er, er, er, mercy.

Lomo, you may depart, so that Crumby shall not be distracted.

Lomo go now?

Yes Lomo, you may go now. Shut the door behind you.

Lomo go now and shut door!

Hmmm. Crumby do you know anything about Dipterans?

If it flies, it dies.

That’s so, sooner or later. But could you identify a fly to species from a photograph?

Unlikely that, Rayetta. I would need any fly I identified to species, appropriately deactivated, and even then I probably couldn’t do that fly to species unless I devoted the rest of this mortal iteration to that solitary task, identifying that one fly to species.

Look at these pictures, Crumby. Ray claims he has discovered a new species of fly and these are pictures of it, the pig-nosed white-faced fly. Of course, my numbskull brother, also spells it the white-faced pig-nosed fly.

Er, that’s an interesting fly, Rayetta.

Yepper, maybe it is Crumby. But is there any chance, however remote, that Ray has discovered a new species of fly?

Er. This is a large fly with a white face and maybe a pig nose, Rayetta, so probably it may be generally known to science already.

That’s what I thought. So Ray is lying.

Er. Maybe. But what Ray is more likely doing is a crude attempt at satire. After all, you took our Dolmens away from us with never a by yer leave, Rayetta.

That’s what I thought. Hmmm. All righty then. Crumby, take that pail of stale Dolmen and brown sugar out to the east pasture. Take a paint brush with you and paint the mixture onto any logs you see lying about that are on the ecotone between the pecan orchard and the east pasture including the beaver log. Do you understand all that Crumby?

All righty then.

Bye Crumby. Send Lomo in as you depart. Don’t forget your pail.

All righty then.

Crumby fetches his pail forth from the office of the Lovely Druidess. Lomo is awaiting without, guarding the door.

Rayetta wants you inside, Lomo. She’s fixing to turn you into a gopher.

But the proto human, Lomo, has heard this joke many times, and only grunts at the departing Ovate. As Crumby foretold, however, Lomo is, fixing to get turned into a gopher.

There you are Lomo. Hmmm. Lomo, go get Ray.

Lomo, go get Ray?

Yes Lomo, go get Ray. Moreover, Lomo, you are at liberty to overpower him if necessary. In fact, give him a good Indian burn as you drag him along the dusty hallways. Do you understand all that?

Lomo go get Ray!!!!

Ray's Thought for the Day - Flies

It's aggravating. Try lathing your throat with a nice Dolmen, only to have your sister snatch it away before you are even half finished. So today I'm going to show Rayetta a thing or two. Today, I am starting a new series. The new series is, Flies, I Espy While Werkin' in the Sun. Today's fly is the white-faced pig nosed fly, a species entirely unknown to science before today. I discovered it, the pig-nosed white-faced fly. Here is a dorso-posterior view of my fly.

This fly is only known by me to occur for a few days out of the year in Menchaca, Tejas, and only when a rare imported species of an unnamed imported Mexican canna has been cut back to the ground but continues to ooze an alcoholic sap upon which my new fly apparently feeds on exclusively, eschewing all other foods and libations.

Rayetta's Butterflies - Stale Beer

Hmmm. I need some stale beer and brown sugar. Those items should be easy enough to come by in these parts. Then I need to need to figure out how to apply my butterfly food/attractant to easily photogenic vegetation surfaces. First though, I need my ingredieints. There's plenty of brown sugar. What about stale beer? Hmmm.

What are the boys doing out in the pecan orchard? Ha! They're guzzling up Dolmen. We'll see about that.

The Lovely Druidess sashays out to the pecan orchard toting along an empty pail.

Hello, Lovely Druidess Rayetta. Join us. Have a delicious Dolmen Stout and relax for the nonce.

Hello boys. No thanks, I'm much too busy. However, everyone of you needs to pour whatever Dolmen is remaining in your glasses into my pail.

But Ray objects and the rest of the boys wait to see what will happen to Ray.

I been werkin' in the sun all day and narrowly avoided a chafing event Rayetta. I need all this Dolmen.

No you don't Ray. Pour it in my pail right now. All of it.

But Rayetta.

Shut up Ray and gimme that beer. And the rest of you do likewise. I'm watching you, Crumby. Don't try to gulp that up.

So the boys, even Ray, Crumby, Lleu Llaw, Raymone and Lomo are forced by circumstance to pour all their remaining Dolmen Stout into Rayetta's pail.

Good. That's a tidy sum of Dolmen. My butterflies, in the absence of nectar, shall appreciate some nice stale beer and sugar. Thanks boys. Bye.

Bye, Lovely Druidess Rayetta.

Oh, by the bye, Crumby, by Friday this mixture shall be propitious for its task and I shall expect to see you in my office at 8 AM Friday morning, sharp.

But er, er, er, er!

Be there, Crumby.

All righty then.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Hot Today!

Yepper. The temperature shall roar upwards anon. I shall soon be werkin' in the sun. That all means I have to be ever alert for a potential chafing event. Preparations for that potential, need to be undertaken.

On the annual precipitation front, the gauge collected 0.5" during our latest event. I need to add that in to the annual total, later. We are on the verge of cracking 19".

US Culture Today - An Intermittent Newsy, News Feature of the Druid News Service

Hi there boys and regular people. This is Ms. Hope Remains, Ace Reporter for the Druid News Service (DNS). Today, Our Globetrotting Kinglet is off to the north pole for an important conference with the polar bears. I have received a copy of the Kinglet's talking points ahead of time, thanks to some Druidic powers that keep me ahead in the newsy news competition. Anyway, the Kinglet is going to explain to the polar bears, through an interpreter, that Our Way of Life is more important than their way of life and that they need to go extinct. Quoting from the Kinglet's talking point brief:

Uh, uh, you polar bears need to go extinct to protect My Way of Life.

The Kinglet, according to his talking point brief, feels like he should make it clear to the polar bears that he intends to stay the course until all their ice is melted and there will be no more, uh, uh, negotiations with the polar bears.

Goodness gracious sakes alive!!!! This is Ms. Hope Remains signing off for the DNS. Watch out for the Wicker Man!!!!

Ray's Thought for the Day - A Tragic Kinglet?

Is the Kinglet a potentially tragic figure? Easy that, no, no, no!!!! Tragic figures first have to go through a heroic phase. That qualification gets the Kinglet off the hook. No, the Kinglet is not tragic. He's just an ignoramus knucklehead.

But being an ignoramus knucklehead does not relieve Our Kinglet of responsibility for his actions. Certainly, once he's safely out of the White Palace, he should spend some time in a penitentiary. Then, if while in the penitentiary, he somehow wises up, and maybe does something intelligent, but then all of a sudden he is involved in a license plate manufacturing accident and has his noggin stamped by the license plate press, then we might all say, how tragic.

Hark! Here's my bosom companion.

Yepper. Here I am all righty then. Yesterday, Ray, I smelled baked potatoes and shampoo. Today, I smelled Thick Pink toilet cleaner fluid and

Crumby, I realize you are fairly excited about your nasal repairment, but I really don't want to know about what all you smelled today. Just enjoy the aromas on your own like a normal person.

All righty then. I am going on out now to the east pasture. The skies have cleared and I shall perhaps test the wind with my restored nasal capacity. Perhaps, my loyal servant, the Lion of the Steady Hand, shall be more interested in the scents on the wind than my bosom companion.

Swell. Later Crumby.

Aterla Ayra.

Rayetta's December Butterfly -Question Mark (Polygonia interrogationis)

Yikes! The weather has turned warm and intermittently sunny. I shall grab the camera plus my new teleconverter and adapter and head out to the east pasture to see if any of my butterflies are fluttering about. Come on Crumby. You can help carry stuff. Plus four eyes are better than two. Plus you can flush the butterflies.

All righty then.

Goodness gracious. There's one, a variegated fritallary on the buffalo grass. It may be the same one that was here last month. Hmmm. There goes a yellow one. It's very nervous. Yikes! What's that big one? Calm down Crumby, we need to sneak up on that big one.

Where Rayetta?

It just landed, right over there. See it?

Noper.

Stay behind me Crumby, while I sneak up on it.

The Lovely Druidess sneaks up on the big, cryptic butterfly and takes several pictures.

Ha! OK Crumby. Let's head for the laboratory.

This one is large and rather tame. That's a 1 - 2 on the Rayetta scales.

And Cryptic. Can you find the butterfly?

Rayetta's Butterflies - Clouded Skipper (Lerema accius) Maybe

Hmmm. We're scrabbling at the bottom of the bean bin on these November butterflies. This is the last one we could identify from the pictures, maybe. It may be a lady clouded skipper. It's another little one, and semi-tame. That's 3 - 2 on the Rayetta scales.

Photographing the CB butterflies, then figuring out what they are and correlating that information to the herbage they use is lotsa fun. Right Crumby?

Yepper, Rayetta, lotsa fun. Reckon our twain crimson patch caterpillars have survived? Shall we witness the result of their glorious metamorphosis?

We shall see, anon, perhaps, Crumby.

What Does an Ovate Do? Easy That, Ovation!!!!

Ovates study patterns. Yep. That’s what we do all right. Then once we have studied up on the patterns, we predict how the pattern shall pattern on out into the future predicated on our arduous studies. One interesting pattern that never fails to aggravate an Ovate like myself, is a do loop type pattern. Do loop type patterns are impossible to change because the do loopers are incapable of getting out of the do loop. They are like a donkey (Equus asinus) that is sadly hooked up to a long pole and forced to forlornly trudge in a circle as the simple machine on the other end of the pole, grinds grist. Hopefully, the hard-working donkey gets lots of time off to enjoy donkey leisure activities when not employed at the grist mill and plenty of donkey chow to keep up her strength, and a retirement bundle. Hopefully, she is allowed to work at a pace within the usual capabilities of a donkey and is treated with kindliness by her overseer.

Much of human or proto human labor is donkey like, but we may be more imaginative than donkeys, maybe. So to keep our imaginations under control, so that we won’t kick up our heels and run off from the grist mill, we must justify our labor so that it seems important. More than once, I have attempted to intervene in a human or proto human pattern, only to be informed, “Crumby, I need to feel like my work is important.” or, “Crumby, I need to feel good about my job.”

Fair enough. Due to my wicked Christian past, I sometimes wax messianic or evangelical, whichever, and attempt to disrupt a pattern that aggravates me. But that’s not what ovates do, we study patterns and foretell. So I have learned to keep my aggravation under control, somewhat, and not bother the humans and proto humans, proximally, while they’re working.

Apparently a great many humans and a few proto humans, maybe, feel that an important component of feeling good about their jobs is to blame the miserable Iraqis for 9/11. Patterns indicate that these are the very same humans that blamed the miserable Iraqis in the first place, following their leaders, Evil Vice Minister Chitlin especially, and many of whom, now have jobs related to the population control and colonization on-going in miserable Iraq. Or maybe their kinfolk have the jobs and they need to feel good about their kinfolk.

Fair enough.

Rayetta's Butterflies - Mallow Scrub-Hairstreak (Strymon istapa)

This November CB butterfly gave Crumby and me quite a tussle. We surmise the id is correct. It's a little, nervous butterfly, 3 - 3, on the Rayetta scales.

Crumby's Olfactory Notes

Hark!!!! My sniffer is beginning to function somewhat. First I smelled vinegar. Then last night Ray cooked up a mess of collards and I smelled those collards. Those collards smelled great. Then this morning I smelled one of my own farts that everyone is always whining about. So then I went out in the Wilderness to sniff my bucket that served my ablution requirements out in the Wilderness and I could smell that too. Maybe my sniffer is on the mend.

Botanical Notes Impinging upon Climatic and Telescope Tomfoolery Notes

I have acquired 4, semi-4" sacatons of the Sporobolous airoides/wrightii genre. This is due to my anticipating further rapid deterioration of the climate in these parts. We shall soon see how they do hereabout. I also got one of my new shrubbery buddies. Actually, it's a tree, Cupressus arizonica var. or ssp. glabra, maybe. Ray got it for me because it had broke loose from its moorings in its pot and was apt to die if it didn't get planted. It may die anyway, but it appears OK so far. Now I need to get one more shrubbery buddy.

Footnote: I can also smell my new shrub buddy if I smoosh its leaves right under my nostrils.

Ray's Thought for the Day - The Ruling Class Has Spoken

How the heck did the Miserable Iraq Commission come about? They were civil servants once, taken by the ruling class, tortured, mutilated, a ruined form of life. Yepper. Now they are mere zombies of the ruling families, animated to confront the rampaging Kinglet.

It turns out that the Kinglet's interesting programs, population control in the colonies and torture, may be threatening to stove up the global trickle down, long term. So the ruling class, slightly panicked, decided to give US the Miserable Iraq Commission to show how generally concerned they are with the Kinglet's antics.

Meantime, my delicious cinnamon bun is on its way to these parts, riding along in a panel truck, headed to market. Imagine the wonderful aroma inside that panel truck, and all the delicious baked goods confined in a relatively tiny space. Mmmmm!!!! Time to strap on the lead boots.

Ray's Thought for the Day? What Would We Do Without, Donkeys?

Do Druids ever suffer the company of Christians? Easy that, not knowingly, and certainly not the company of Mammonite Christians, the lying and gluttonous, overwhelming majority of that confused Sun God sect. However, we do allow some non-Mammonite Christians to leave us literature. So we have received the latest issue of Awake! from the non-Mammonite Jehovah's Witnesses (JWs) that prowl these parts.

Of course, even the non-Mammonite Christians like to insult the WG, but on the other hand, this issue featured an article about donkeys (Equus asinus), also known as the African wild ass or burro. The particular donkeys in the article live in Ethiopia where many of them work as beasts of burden. That's why the article is titled "What Would We Do Without Donkeys?"

Anyway, the article explains how much donkeys tote around in Ethiopia and, cautions the reader about donkey abuse, chiefly overburdening the donkeys. This is the type article that should serve as a model for Christians, focusing as it does on nature, sort of, rather than on a bunch of silly, overwrought, Pauline transcendentalism.

Rayetta's Butterflies - Orange Sulphur (Colias eurytheme)

The Crumby Ovate is busy, ovating.

Today I smelled, vinegar. What occasioned that interesting occurrence? Well, Ms. Hope Remains was nosing around in the east pasture and Hope discovered that my faithful servant, Lleu Llaw Guffes, or whoever the responsible party is, had been remiss in the important duty of emptying out the rain gauge. If you leave water in your rain gauge, a great many bugs will certainly drown in it.

Goodness gracious sakes alive, Crumby just look at all these poor little insects, drowned in the rain gauge. You have been remiss in your duties and now I shall have to tell Rayetta on you.

It’s not my fault, Hope. Surely, my terrible suffering in the Wilderness and the resulting delirium I suffered horribly from, created a situation where I forgot to delegate that responsibility. I know, let’s empty out the rain gauge so we can inspect the drowned bugs. I shall carefully pour the water into the sink and you Hope, should cup your hands with a view to catching the dead bugs that are apt to come out with the rain water.

No way Crumby. Here, pour them out on to this sack.

All righty then.

Yikes!!!! Crumby, your malingering has drowned one of Rayetta’s butterflies. You are fixing to catch hell now.

Whoa!!!! Mercy!!!! Er. OK. Now Hope, we need to put a positive spin on this event, somehow. Er.

But a long shadow is cast upon Hope and Crumby.

What the heck are you two up to?

Nothing Rayetta.

Crumby has drowned a butterfly in the rain gauge, Rayetta.

Lemme see. Hmmm. Crumby, I shall forgive you this once for murdering one of my butterflies. Let’s take it to the laboratory and take its picture. Hope, clean up that rain gauge. Pour some vinegar in it with water and shake it up. The darn thing stinks.

Later.

All righty then. I, the Lovely Druidess Rayetta, have hypothesized on several occasions that we have lots of different kinds of these sulphur butterflies at the CB. Here lies more proof that my hypothesisis, as usual, is correct. This male butterly, though dead, drowned as a matter of fact due to Crumby’s negligence, is 2+ - 1+ on the Rayetta scales. That is, medium sized on the large end of medium, and very tame. The dead ones are always, very tame.

Get this. Crumby wanted me to spell that he, Crumby, was running along at such an incredibly supersonic speed that he accidentally smushed this poor butterfly on his gimme cap. I couldn’t do that. Druids don’t lie. However, since Crumby ovated the concept of accidentally murdering my butterflies by running along at unsafe velocities, I shall take this opportunity to warn everyone not to do that.

Rayetta's Butterflies - Lady Checkered White (Pontia protodice)

Crumby and I were able to come to an agreement on the identify of this November butterfly based on the pattern of the visible wing. Isn't Pontia protodice an interesting name, sort of, Mediterranean sounding? This one is a 2-3 butterfly on the Rayetta scales, medium sized and nervous.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Snow White and the Three Stooges

Special Edition Movie Review
_____

Mercy!

Yepper. I woke up early with a little help from my bosom companion so we tried to watch TV. At first, we were very excited by the prospect of getting to watch a movie featuring both Snow White and the Three Stooges. But mercy! The Sun God Trainee part is played by a ventriloquist. That's all we could take.

Crumby's Telescope Tomfoolery Notes - Shrubbery Buddies

To pass some of the time I spent suffering all alone in the grim wilderness, I started fixing to work up a shrubbery buddy plan. Here's how that worked. As annoying light pollution afflicted me from sundry directions I imagined a shrubbery buddy intercepting the annoying light pollution before the annoying light pollution could afflict me. Course the shrubbery buddies couldn't do anything about the general sky glow caused by all the pollution beamed skyward, but the shrubbery buddies could potentially interdict the pollution beamed straight at me.

You may see that most of my tree and shrub buddies have now gone deciduous for the nonce so that more pollution is afflicting me. But if I had evergreen shrubbery buddies habitating at discrete, carefully calculated locations, those shrubbery buddies could help preserve my sanity and keep the pollution from driving me crazy, maybe.

The trouble is, all the different potential evergreen shrubbery buddy pollution interdictors have their own personal requirements dictated by their natural histories. Few, if any, shrubbery buddies are, indeed, native to these parts, meet my stringent requirements, and also have a chance of surviving in the cruel climate overtaking these parts.

So my search for such shrubbery buddies may turn to parts west of here. I need two shrubbery buddies ASAP.

Rayetta's Butterflies - The Alleged Fair Sex, of This Alledged Potentially Correctly Identified Species, Maybe

OK. According to Crumby, this may be a female of the species, Euphryes vestis, maybe. Remember the two characters sitting on the Verbesina virginica with the honey bee, below. Like her potential boyfriends, she is little, but unlike them, she is more nervous. That's 3 - 3 on the Rayetta scales.

Hmmm. Here's Red. You know Red. I may need to acquire a larger telephoto lens than the one we have already acquired. Crumby is grousing about the quality of the photos Raymone and I are capable of coaxing out of the newer telephoto lens.

The proceeds for any new lens you get, Rayetta, will come out of your own purse.

Then I can get a bigger lens, Red?

Yepper, Rayetta. But you have to pay, fer it. No CB funds are going to the butterflies.

But I can get a bigger telephoto lens, Red?

Rayetta!!!!!

Thanks Red. Bye Red. Hmmm. I'm making even more progress.

Rayetta's Butterflies - male dun skippers (Euphryes vestis) maybe

These butterflies are little and semi-tame, that's 3-2 on the Rayetta scales. They may be misidentified, Crumby cautions.

Hmmm. We shall see how this works out. I am trying to collaborate with Crumby. Not easy that.

Crumby has begun assembling a butterfly library. The first tome has arrived. It is The Butterfly Book, W.J. Holland, 1931. Let's see. This tome set us back, $12.95. It's a bit faded and musty smelling, but the plates are all present. Hmmm. Holland. We already have a moth book by a Holland. Let me read this tome, hastily.

Yep. Just as I surmised, it is the same Holland. For this tome is chock full of the whimsical. There is even a Digression and Quotations section in the TOC. No wonder Crumby got this one first.

Crumby Demonizes the Economy

Is the Demon Mammon in Charge of the Homeland Economy?

A great many regular people and gentlemen are turned off by economics. To them, economics seems a dull pseudo-science spiced up with incomprehensible double talk and boosterism. But what if everyone knew that the Demon Mammon, one of the very worst demons loosed upon this little globe, was in charge of the economy. Wouldn’t that make economics more interesting?

Course it would. To know that a terrible wicked demon is in charge of the economy makes economics more interesting. How do we know that a terrible wicked demon, Demon Mammon no less, is in charge of our economy? Easy that, just look at the way our economy works. Only the most greedy and avaricious among the trickle down recipients enjoy the upward mobility that may eventually waft them up to high subservience with the ruling class. Just think of all the compromises, lying and gluttony, those trickle downers must subject themselves to, just to get where they want to go. Scary, isn’t it?

And what of the rulers themselves, seated at the Demon’s Table. The rulers’ chairs are inherited, so that many generations of their kin have sat upon those chairs, guzzling and swilling at the Demon’s Table.

Did you know that many of the rulers have two houses, or even four houses, just for themselves? They’re not little houses either, typically. Plus the rulers have lots of other stuff compared to what you probably have. And the main goal of the rulers is to make sure that they get even more stuff, more and more. Stuff, especially power, that they may enjoy at their leisure, all safe and secure.

This fact about the rulers permeates US. We are taught to be just like them, and we are also taught that if we work hard, we can be just like them, and have a seat at the Demon’s Table.

This is where the double talk and boosterism come into play. Obviously, and despite the Bounty of the Goddess, everyone can’t have four big houses, or even three. There wouldn’t be any room for anything, but big houses. But the double talk and boosterism indicate otherwise. Sure you can have three houses, or even five, if you are willing to work hard. Or, as the Kinglet might opine, “It’s hard work, working hard, uh, uh you have to work hard.”

Deep down, most of US know that we shall never be exalted on up to the Demon’s Table. So we content ourselves with the trickle down, which, due to the Bounty of the Goddess, keeps on trickling, down.

But what does the Demon Mammon do for US, personally? Well now, the Demon Mammon instructs US that the only way the Homeland economy can survive, is to grow. Or, as the Kinglet would say, “Uh, uh, we need to grow the, uh, pie.” Naturally, this instruction, or divine advice, is applied to every facet of our lives. The Demon’s instruction rules US.

Eat more, quicker. Work more, faster. Get there, sooner. Buy that, now. I need a bigger one. I need three bigger ones. I need servants. I need an island. I need a colony. I need a lawyer.

Interesting byproducts created from the Demon’s divine instruction are spectacular quantities of waste and pollution, very attractive to the Wicker Man.
_____

Above, Crumby, still weak from his terrible ordeal in the Wilderness, is mixing Christian and Druid divinities in an effort to reach out to his former religionists.

The Ark Druid

Hope Remains Returns, from Foreign Parts

Ray espies the arrival of a taxi cab at the CB even as the taxi enters the driveway. Ray rushes forth to greet the arrival of the taxi cab. Ray and Hope Remains hug.

Hope, you’re back. Praise the Goddess, you have returned from foreign parts in one piece.

Yes, I have Ray, narrowly. But my goodness gracious, that Kinglet, is running around like a spooked chicken and his evil ministers likewise, so even an Ace Reporter like me, can’t keep up. Land Sakes Alive, it sure is good to be home at the CB. Fetch all this stuff in Ray.

There is a great deal of stuff here, Hope.

Yepper Ray. Much baggage indeed may be acquired in foreign parts. There may be a present for you Ray, ensconced somewhere within all that baggage. Now I’m going on in. I’ll send some help on out to assist you with the baggage, Ray.

All righty then. I shall guard all this baggage until such help arrives.

Hope Remains sashays toward the CB front entrance leaving Ray to negotiate with the taxi hack and unload all the baggage. Handily, the Crumby Ovate happens to be alertly observing the newly returned Ace Reporter’s arrival from the safe confines of the CB living room. Hope and Crumby hug.

Goodness Crumby, you are so gaunt. What have you been up to?

I have been banished into the Wilderness for a long spell, with scant company and only a little milk and a fried pie or two for sustenance. But Rayetta has managed to get me back in the house on a trial basis. Lleu Llaw and Ray are monitoring me though. They have a schedule.

That’s nice Crumby. Crumby, go help Ray with all that baggage. Goodness, here’s Lleu Llaw Guffes, Lion of the Steady Hand.

Hope Remains and Lleu Llaw hug.

Lleu Llaw. See Ray out yonder guarding all that baggage. You and Crumby need to help Ray bring that baggage on in. There may be treats for you twain ensconced in that baggage.

But Crumby interjects for Lleu Llaw:

All righty then. I am fond of a treat, now and again. Have no fear, Hope Remains, for I, the Crumby Ovate, foretell that anon, succored somewhat by my faithful servant, the Lion of the Steady Hand, all that baggage shall be safely bestowed within the safe confines expeditiously.

That’s nice Crumby. You all tote all the baggage into the parlor for the nonce and everyone can assemble for their treats or presents. Now I need to go to the comfort station.

All righty then. Come on Lleu Llaw, for I espy that Ray is awaiting our aid and is not properly garbed to undergo the frigid atmospheric conditions current out in the driveway. Come to think on it. Perhaps we should avail ourselves of some outer garments ere we venture forth into the near-freezing temperatures out yonder in the driveway. Lleu Llaw, go fetch me my green jacket, red cap and white owl feather.

Then Lleu Llaw goes in search of outer garments, while Hope is avidly seeking out the Ladies’ Comfort Station. But when she arrives thereat, the way is barred. Knock, knock.

A beautiful lilting voices sings out: Oc-cu-pied.

Rayetta, let me in. I’m about to pee my pants.

Hmmm. Hold on Hope, while I tidy up the place with this air freshener. Nancy sent us a sample of Pansy Depoot Air Freshener from the Joke Factory. It’s entirely organic.

Hurry up Rayetta.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh. Whoooooooooooosh. Ah. The wonderful aroma of pansies, cultivars of the Violaceae.

Goodness gracious Rayetta, let me in there.

Did you bring me a present?

Yes. It’s on its way to the parlor, maybe. Now let me in.

All righty then.

The comfort station door swings open to admit Hope, who rushes in as the Pansy Depoot rushes out. For it is in the nature of a gas, to disperse from greater to lesser concentration. And with the Pansy Depoot comes out also the Lovely Druidess, so that many would surmise that Rayetta was the source of the pansy aroma.

Ah-choo! Goodness gracious, Rayetta. Ah-chooo! Ah-choooo! Damn it!

Yet out in the driveway, Ray and Crumby are disputing over the baggage and withal Crumby is warmly attired in his favorite trooping fairy outfit while Ray is scantily clad.

Why didn’t you bring me out a jacket, Crumby?

Perhaps Ray, one might assume that one so far along in Sun God training as yourself, should not require a mere jacket for warmth. I know that an Ovate, such as me, might foretell, just that. And as a matter of historical fact, both Cu Chulian and Kai, could, at a comparable stage of their training, generate not only plenty of heat for themselves, but warm up their nearby mortal comrades, as well.

Fine. Great. Anyway let’s get all this in. We may need to make two trips.

All righty then. Lleu Llaw, lay your steady hand upon those large articles of baggage, while I engage with this particular luggage here, for I foretell that my treat lies within this one. Plus, no great burdens should I bear, given my condition, weakened from long suffering in the grim Wilderness.

But Ray feels the heat build within him, and his Sun God training bursts forth, beamed at the malingering Ovate with such fierceness that Crumby’s owl feather catches fire.

Cut it out Ray.

Ha! Ye didn’t ovate that coming, did ye Crumby?

Lleu Llaw, turn the garden hose on Ray. He’s liable to burn me up. Look whut he’s done to my owl feather. Dang it Ray. Yer gonna get it now fer ruinin’ my feather.

Ha! Spray away Lleu Llaw. No mere garden hose may douse my radiance. And as fer ye Crumby, ye may do yer worst, though for mine own honor and glory, I wouldst that yer condition was not so weakened.

Why ye guttering candle, I shall snuff ye out!

But as the bosom companions square off, a long shadow is cast their way and it is the shadow of the Lovely Druidess Rayetta, and with the shadow also is apparent, the scent of pansies.

You two quit fooling around and get that baggage in here this minute. Lleu Llaw, turn off that hose and assist Crumby and Ray with the baggage. Right now! Move it!

But Crumby tattles: Ray burnt up my feather, Rayetta.

And Ray sniffs the atmosphere: I smell pansies, Rayetta.

Now!!!!!

Anon, the baggage is eventually bestowed in the parlor and Hope is temporarily restored to the CB, at rest from her Ace Reporter labors. Everyone receives a nice treat or present. The bosom companions compare notes.

What did you get, Crumby?

A whole box of apricot bon mots. How about you Ray?

A booklet featuring menus of all the meals our ignoramus Kinglet enjoyed in foreign parts.

Really! What did he get for breakfast in Amman?

Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold, pease porridge in the pot, nine days old.

Rayetta's Butterflies - Queen (Danaus gilippus)

Ray. This venue is not performing up to snuff. There's no edit bar.

Clear the cache, Rayetta.

Yep. Now it's fixed.

When the Eupatorium greggii is flowering, this is our most conspicuous butterfly. All these queens that we had, a great many of them, departed by first frost and have not been espied since. It is a 1 - 1 butterfly, large and tame on the Rayetta scales.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Hard Freeze

That's right. Night before last the first hard freeze of the season occurred. For a hard freeze to occur in these parts, the water in the main birdbath has to freeze over. That's how we know.

Yesterday, was generally sunny. And fickle, fading Ogma managed to warm us up into the low 60s. So Rayetta decided we needed to do a butterfly monitoring event. Out I went to see if any butterflies were about. There were a few snouts, one checkered-skipper and a variegated fritillary. That's all I espied.

But lo and behold, the evil invasive winter weeds are putting in a troubling appearance in the formerly cultivated area. The bur clover wars are on again. Death to the bur-clovers!!!! Also, because lots of the St. Augustine weed got killed off by the paucity of precipitation characteristic of these parts, the King Ranch bluetem invasive weed that likes to conceal itself amid the St. Augustine weed is opportunistically flowering maniacally. Death to them, too!!!!

In fact, we are all turning out today for evil invasive weed patrol. Death to all the evil invasive weeds!!!! So all you Mammonites need to stear clear of the CB today. We wouldn't want any accidents of mistaken identity. Huh-huh.

First though, I have to eat up this delicious cinnamon bun. Mmmmm. It's even more delicious than usual. Why is that? Is it me, or the cinnamon bun?