Ray's Rainfall Update

Uh, oh. The rainfall accountability methodology got temporarily messed up. Yepper, some rainfall occurred at the CB, night before last. Curious to know how much of that rain got in the gauge, I went out to the gauge for to do my usual espyization. Yet a grape vine plus a big grape leaf were blocking the rain access porthole to the gauge. A scant amount of rain water was in the gauge, anyway. But how much should have been in the gauge absent the grape leaf blocking normal access. Beats me!

So I shall merely report what was actually in the gauge, about 0.05". So that brings the newly accounted for all important total to, 42.98" on Day 251, DY 1.

Rayetta's Butterflies and Diurnal Moths

Tra-la-la, la-de-da. Yesterday, I espied a Zebra heliconian briefly at the CB. That would be another new documentation, but I did not get a photo. I tried. I even had my camera handy. But the zebra heliconian zipped off before I could sneak up on it, and has not been seen since.

Nevertheless, one of the few moths I can identify by myself, Horama panthalon, also turned up at the CB. So I took its picture. Most of the Horama pictures one espies focus on the spectacular tibia adornments, posterior view, only hinted at in my picture.

Hmmm. There's Crumby, skulking out in the dusty hallway. Yoohoo, Crumby. Have you forgiven me for torturing you for your own good?

Yepper. I am a forgive and forget Ovate.

Snort! Right! Well, don't get yourself worked up over a little beneficial torture Crumby. Just take that torture in stride. That's my advice. And my advice always presupposes, if you know what's good for you. So Crumby, check out this Horama.

Cool! Huh-huh. You know Rayetta, it took a real genuis to combine Ho and Rama into a single word.

I'm sure, Crumby. Much like the Secret Aggie **** Wag, also takes real genuis.

Correct-o-mundo, Lovely Druidess.

Ray Goes for His Vocabulary Lesson

Ray, I want you to use the spell, feckless, in a sentence.

All righty then, Ms. Merriam. Er. The feckless lady or gentleman lacks feck.

Very good Ray.

Thank ye, Ms. Merriam.

Later.

So Ray, ye didn’t rat me out on the grasshopper torture, did ye.

Noper. I had no feck on all that.

You were entirely feckless then?

Yepper. That feck was all my sister’s doing. Somehow, she must have figured out what you were up to, or maybe Lleu Llaw squeaked. Then she devised that cruel feck. Sorry Crumby, I couldn’t save ye any apricot fried pie. I was feckless in that regard.

That’s OK, bosom companion. Sigh! All that torture had a feck on my appetite anyway. In fact, I am still fecked up. Plus, Lleu Llaw didn’t squeak. He would have, maybe, but he never got the chance. You must be right. Rayetta probably used some arcane magic to find out about the very minimal grasshopper torture I was contemplating. Then, while she was still really pissed off at me, she devised the torture session, the lingering fecks of which, still have me fecked up.

Uh. Crumby, I am not sure fecked is a verb.

Sure it is Ray.

Noper. I don’t think fecked is a real verb, Crumby. Plus, the way ye are using fecked is confusing. I am not sure a person can be, fecked up, sensibly.

Well Ray. I am too fecked up to argue. I know. Next time you go for your vocabulary lesson, I shall go too. Then we can ask Ms. Merriam. Ms. Merriam shall know what’s fecked up.

All righty then.

All righty then.

Rayetta's Butterflies - Coyote Cloudywing (Achalarus toxeus)

Ha! Just when many were beginning to opine, Rayetta, you shall never see another new butterfly at the CB, ever, I espied a new one, just now. So much for the naysayers, the negatory good buddy crowd. Ha!

Anyway, my new butterfly documentation for the CB is this one, Coyote Cloudywing. I shall have to show two documentation photos for the purpose of sanitation. Boo-hoo-hoo, it always makes me sad to use sanitation like that. Memories!




So here's another one for sanitation. Goodness! Why's that plant blooming this time of year?

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Sweat

Mercy! It sure is hot down here, werkin’ in the sun. Interestingly, once I get all wet from the sweat, I never dry out. So from around 8:30 in the morning, until about now, I am sopping wet. How about that?

I’d like to figure out how many gallons of sweat I give off, but I can’t figure out how to do that, because I am constantly replacing the sweat with delicious well water. If I didn’t drink the well water, most certainly, I would die.

Sweating, it is said, is good for you. What is meant by that saying is, if you need to sweat, sweating is good for you because otherwise, you will die. So the saying, sweating is good for you is not a general truth, but a specific truth, good only for those circumstances that call for sweat, maybe.

I have known some persons that were incapable of sweating. Those persons would die if they werked in the sun long enough. So they never werk in the sun. Then, a great many that could sweat if they needed too, never werk in the sun, either. I wonder. Is it bad for a person to hold back on sweat, even when that person has the potential to sweat. What if holding back sweat causes germs to build up, like maybe in the gall bladder, sphincter, some rete mirabile, or in a little used corner of the noggin? Or maybe, no sweating promotes fatty tissue buildup, especially around the spleen and other important yet seldom considered internal organs, especially those located in the noggin region.

On the other hand, sweating may, in some circumstances, be bad even for the potentially sweat capable. Like Crumby was telling me one time that when he had lost his sense of smell, he was constantly worried that he was sweating, giving off sweaty type aromas as it were, and everyone was disgusted by his aroma, but they were too polite to say so.

Those cowards should have told Crumby he stank, and taken the consequences that might have accrued to them for making a truthful observation, for once. Plus then, Crumby, could have taken some remedial action or other, to tune himself down, aromatically spelling.

Yepper. Life as we know it is complicated, full of nuance and other bullshit.

The Demon Mammon Advises, Write Polymorphous Eroticism into the Platform

Baptized in lying and gluttony, the twain worst sins, the average Mammonite Republican must look elsewhere for wicked thrills. Where better to seek out a little wickedness then, than the Men’s Comfort Station at the Minneapolis International Airport?

Jeez Louise! The time has come for the Mammonite Republicans to embrace polymorphous eroticism. Yepper. They need to put polymorphous eroticism in their platform. We, the Republican Party, in order to avoid the appearance of hypocrisy, do embrace the polymorphous yet erotic lifestyle. That way our elected officials and boosters will no longer embarrass the GOP in public. Because whatever we do, sex wise, is OK.

It is also OK, because we really are, nice fellows. Just ask us. We will tell you, we are really nice fellows.

Yepper. The Republicans need only embrace all the various sexual antics, officially. Then, the stalled progress they seek shall be granted to them lickety split. But hold it, some might holler. What happens to the family if daddy is polymorphous yet erotic.? Won’t his antics be a strain on the wife and the kiddies, especially the kiddies?

Easy that, course not. Because daddy’s high jinks are officially endorsed in the platform. So he’s OK. Plus, he is such a nice fellow.

But, but, but, some might holler, polymorphous eroticism is sinful.

Well. So are lying and gluttony. So, so what. It is time for the Mammonite Republicans to finally baptize themselves in all the Christian sins, as opposed to just most of them. What is needful is a clean break. Forget about the past. Stop crying over spilt milk. Start afresh, guilt free. Then, with a fresh start, what good progress shall be made.

But, but, but, but, some few might holler, we may all rot in Hades.

Well. So what. That’s a high probability in any event.

Uh! Can the ladies and kiddies, animals, some fruits and vegetables also be polymorphous yet erotic?

Easy that, no. That is going too far. Those groups are too silly for unsupervised polymorphous eroticism. Polymorphous eroticism shall be the exclusive province of Mammonite Republican men. All those other groups may participate, but only under the supervision of a responsible party.

Gestapo Takes a Vacation?

The Kinglet, Chitlin and Associates are a bunch, all righty then. No bunch, in a great while has done more to boost the boosters at the expense of US. Corrupt federal agencies across the board, no accounting, and Gestapo, top noggin lawyer, suffering from amnesia, boosts the boosters, all righty then.

Yikes! What about Sleeza? Is Sleeza also on vacation? Whoa! What has happened to Sleeza? Maybe Sleeza is detained at one of Chitlin’s secret locations. Maybe Sleeza is imprisoned in some dank stygian cell with only mushrooms for company.

Mercy! Congress needs to ask Gestapo what happened to Sleeza before he skips town.

Uh! General Gestapo, do you have any information on the whereabouts of Secretary Sleeza?

Noper. I seem to recall such a person, but I can’t remember ever having any personal knowledge pertaining to that particular Secretary or communications with that particular Secretary. Yet now, as a private citizen eligible for a lucrative government contract, doubtless I might use the proceeds of that contract, plus my former status as top noggin lawyer, to ascertain the whereabouts of this Secretary Sleeza, maybe. Here, take one of my new business cards. Give me a call Senator.
_____

But the whereabouts of Secretary Sleeza aside, we seem to have a new officialdom talking point. Yepper. Mammonite think tank officialdom, seizing upon the perceived unpopularity of the widely acclaimed do-nothing Congress, has decided to talk up forward progress on all the important issues being neglected by Congress due to the Congressional focus on spilt milk plus doing nothing. Who are the talking heads of Mammonite think tank officialdom? Easy that, the Mammonite Republican members of the do nothing Congress who spent six years spilling the milk. Senator Cornyholenuno, for example, is ready to forge ahead on some more of the Kinglet's brilliant, milk spilling initiatives, but his colleagues won't help him. Instead, they want to cry over the previously spilt milk. Boo-hoo!

Yet the Kinglet is slighty more interesting, lately. Extrapolating from the Kinglet's interesting noggin work, Who might have been encouraged to attack US had we not brought the Indian wars to a final satisfactory conclusion for US? Yepper. Consider that! Had we not subdued those Indians, utterly, and put the survivors on reservations, who else might have been encouraged to attack US from then, until now. That's right, there's no telling who would have been encouraged to attack US. Yepper, our ever changing life style, the transitory US way of life, depends upon victory for survival. Otherwise, defeated, we shall be attacked, by El Salvador, maybe, the US lifestyle changed beyond recognition, defeated, our storage capacity lost forever.

See. That is a fairly interesting opinion the Kinglet has. But hey! There is no use in crying over the spilt Vietnam milk. And, like Red spells, you win some, you lose some, some get rained out. Anticipate more rain outs.

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Living with Imperialism

One of the big deals in the colonies is finding a suitable leader type to head up that part of the imperial apparatus that interfaces with both the miserable locals and the imperial oppressor, US. Those leader type positions are hard work. It’s hard work pleasing both the miserable locals and US. Just ask the Pshaw of Iran, Fulgencio Batista, General Pinochet, General Noriega, Mr. Diem, Mr. Thieu, General Ky, General Minh, Prince Sihanouk, General Lon Nol, etc. Er. Actually, most of that bunch has cycled on so you may not ask them anything, easily. Although, General Noriega is fixing to get out of prison. Maybe General Noriega has reformed. Maybe he would like to take over in miserable Iraq.

Yepper. Lots of US are unhappy with the elected figure-head Iraqi leader type, Mr. Maliki. For example, the Druidry in these parts suspected from the get go that Mr. Maliki might not be stocky enough for the job. We surmised that a figure-head in miserable Iraq needed to be especially stocky and wear a nice, gaudy uniform, maybe with a big red turban to top it all off. Then too, a gold crossed golf clubs pin on the turban would be a nice touch. That way, he would look like someone US could be comfortable with. Plus his appearance alone might spook some of the locals into standing up for Chitlin, and US.

The Kinglet though, apparently, maybe, is sticking by Mr. Maliki. The Kinglet has met Mr. Maliki and observed Mr. Maliki’s body language. So the Kinglet is sticking by Mr. Maliki, apparently, maybe, based on body language observations, not just the superficial appearance.

Yet Mrs. Clinton, potential imperial Queenlet, is following the LBJ methodology. That methodology emphasizes that a suitable leader type in the colonies must show good progress to US, or else. Mrs. Clinton must be surmising,

Surely, over there, among the surviving miserable Iraqis, there is an especially stocky general. I shall dress that general up. Then, reasoning together, we shall make good progress.

Crumby’s Torture

There I was, trapped like a rat, strapped to my Lazy Boy, a Protohuman of either sex at my sides, liable to pester me, even touch me. There I was, abandoned by everyone, deserted even by my bosom companion, the possibly treacherous, Ray. There I was, muted, while all about my torturers competed to see who could shout out the stupidest answer to the stupidest question. There I was, helpless, while my torturers ate up all the delicious fried pies.

Well, I thought to myself, the WG has finally abandoned me entirely. How could this be worse? I know. They could be shouting out stupid answers to the stupid questions with their mouths full. Praise the Goddess this is a Druid crowd and at least, they will not do that. But then, I cast a side-long glance at Lometa. Sure enough, Lometa was hollering and giggling along with the rest of them, her mouth crammed full of apricot fried pie. Good Goddess, I implored, please don’t let any of Lometa’s masticated treat get on me.

Yepper, the WG had indeed entirely abandoned me. After maybe an eternity of playing, Who knows what this is?, featuring the Hawaii trip pictures, the Mistress of Ceremony, Rayetta, called a short break.

Goodness! This is just such fun. But let’s take a short break so everyone can go to the comfort stations or out in the side yard. Also, there’s a nice bucket in the shed.

The WG had entirely abandoned. me. I wanted to go to the Boy’s comfort station too. Plus I wanted to get some of Lometa’s slaver off me. I tried to get Rayetta’s attention. Mmmm! Mmmmmmmmm! MMMMMMMMMMM! MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!, I hollered.. But Rayetta, evil-eyed, sashayed on off with the rest of the ladies.

There I was, trapped, all alone in the parlor. Surely the Lovely Druidess shall show mercy, anon. She must! Ha! The Lovely Druidess shall not allow me to piss my Lazy Boy. Then once I am loose I shall lock myself in the Boy’s Comfort Station or hide in the east pasture until everyone has left.

Pretty soon my torturers fixed to filter back into the parlor. Oh no! Great! What’s Rayetta talking to Nancy about? Why are they espying me? Mercy! Yikes! Here they come.

Crumby. Look what Nancy has, Nancy’s Extra Large Pet Diaper, Tailless Version. We shall put this garment on you. Lift up his legs Lomo.

Lomo lift Crumby up by legs?

Yes Lomo. Lift his legs straight up so that I can slip this interesting garment on him. Hmmm. Nancy, can you help cinch up the Velcro straps nice and tight? There now. That’s better. Now you may enjoy the continuing Power Point presentations Crumby, absent fretting over a potentially soiled Lazy Boy. What about gaseous emissions, Nancy? Does the diaper trap those too?

No dear. But it does run the gas through a patented filter system. After filtering, the farts come out smelling like pansies.

Goodness! That is interesting. Hmm! Is it sound proof?

Ha! No Rayetta. We have not sound proofed it yet. We could, but the public really appreciates the irony of fart noises associated with the pansy aroma. This pet diaper is one of our hottest products. We can’t keep them on the shelves. We had to put on an extra shift at the Joke Factory and we still can’t keep up with demand.

Goodness! Did you hear that Crumby. You may fart to your heart’s content, and smell like a pansy. Yoohoo! Everybody reassemble. Take your seats. In a little while, Raymone shall be passing among you with a great platter of French fried chicken and biscuits. Help yourselves. All righty then. Now comes the really fun part. We shall all vote on the best Hawaii trip pictures. The first picture category is, the Wide Angle Picture of General Scenery that I Most Like. Are there any questions? Yes Lometa. You have a question.

Tee-hee-hee. I smell pansies.

Yepper. I bet you do. That’s Crumby. Are there any other questions? Yes Dr. Swineherd.

Dr. Pistrum, many may be confused as to precisely what they may be voting on. Are the many voting on the best picture of the general scenery, or contrariwise, the best general scenery regardless of the quality of the picture?

Hmmm. Good point, Dr. Swineherd. OK. I know. We shall brainstorm Dr. Swineherd’s interesting dialectical observation first. Does everyone understand all that, the dialectic, I mean, as indicated by Dr. Swineherd, that we are fixing to brainstorm?

Karl, you have a question?

Yepper Rayetta. . What was the dialectic again?

On and on went the Power Point Presentation, eventually interrupted by another short break and a course of Mary the Virgin’s, panini sandwiches. What’s in the paninis?, my torturers wanted to know.

Eventually though, after a tousand or maybe two tousand eternities filled with more torture, the WG at last showed mercy. A kind of delirium descended upon me and I began to surmise that I was somewhere else, no longer strapped in my Lazy Boy.

What do we have here, Ysbaddaden Chief Giant?

It’s a bad ‘un. This ‘un done tried to trick yer brother into torturin’ grasshoppers, Lady Arianrhod. Which box should I pen er pin him up in?

Hmmm. This must be Crumby the Ovate. For goodness sakes, Crumby, I forgot all about Lleu Llaw. Has Lleu Llaw been torturing my grasshoppers?

No maam.

Good. Then you may go back to the parlor and enjoy the interesting Power Point Presentation.

But by the time I got back to the parlor, the interesting Power Point Presentation was history. My former torturers were all outside, some fixing to depart, spelling by byes. Mercy! Shall anyone let me loose, ever?

Eventually. Wasn’t that fun. Oh my goodness. I forgot all about Crumby. He’s still strapped to his Lazy Boy. Crumby, do you want loose? Nod your noggin affirmatively if you want loose.

Now Crumby, before I let you loose, are you going to throw a temper tantrum? If you are, I won’t let you loose. Shake your head negatively, if you are not going to throw a temper tantrum.

Hmmm. All righty then, Crumby. But before I let you loose, Crumby, have you been visiting with the WG lately? Nod affirmatively, if you have.

Good! Then perhaps you have learned your lesson.

Ray's Thought for the Day - These Weeds are Pernicious

Much labor, formerly, at the CB went towards circulating our weeds faster, somewhere else. Now, most of those weeds are somewhere else. But we must remain ever vigilant, lest they return. See that young slant faced grasshopper. That young grasshopper is relaxing on the penultimate worst weed at the CB. That weed is easily recognizable. That weed is King Ranch bluestem, second only to Bermudagrass as the worst weed in these parts. Actually, Bermudagrass is only worse because it is more tenacious, yet not necessarily less pernicious.

We must be constantly on the alert for KR as it may cycle around again, since the CB is surrounded all about by fields and lawns of it. I wonder if that slant faced grasshopper eats KR. If it does, that gustatory habit is slightly helpful. But the big help in this instance from that grasshopper is focusing our attention on what the grasshopper is sitting on. Now that particular weed is also gone, but not long gone. Saturday, after I enjoy my delicious cinnamon bun, I shall lead a patrol of the premises. The fate of that particular pernicious weed, KR, shall be sealed, temporarily by that patrol.

Elsewhere in these parts, there are plenty of over-sized weeds. Assisted by the abundance of rain, these weeds are bigger than usual. These ragweeds, Ambrosia trifida, are plenty big and fixing to flower. Mercy! These may be flowering already. The keen observer may espy my range wand hanging on one of the foremost ragweeds. Range wands are 3 feet long, usually.

What's ragweed good for? Well, it's great for the allergy doctors and pharmaceutical companies. Plus, with a name like ambrosia, it's bound to be delicious.

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Living with Imperialism

What’s worse? Imperialism or imperialist liars. Let’s see. Imperialism is the same difference as gluttony. Lying is lying. So the twain worst sins are both covered. Yippee! It’s a tie. Now here’s an ovation from Mr. Red Ears, Proprietor.

Mr. Red Ears, Ovates - Translated into Standard English by Rayetta Pistrum, Ph.D.

All righty then. About one third of US wish to keep the imperial colony in miserable Iraq up and running for the foreseeable future. Who are those among US who wish that? Easy that, those who have an economic interest in the miserable Iraqi colonization. Those are the ones who are benefitting financially from imperialism. How so? Easy that, they are contractors or stockholders that get trickle down from the imperialism, or arms dealing, or they have a job to do. No wonder they support the imperialist occupation of miserable Iraq. They are socking away storage, while the rest of US pay taxes that support their increased personal storage capacity. Yet all the while they are hedging some of their storage capacity to convince US that a bunch of Sunni Arab parasites with zero technology, or a bunch of Shiite peasants, also with zero technology, are a threat to US. Well they are, if we let them steal our airplanes.

The rest of US two thirds, are too stupid to do anything about the one third stealing our money. Besides being too stupid, we are comparatively lacking in motivation. Besides, some of US are hoping to get some of our money back eventually, the good old trickle down. Too bad for US. Anyway, the imperialism may eventually prove unprofitable, and run its course. Then, the hue and cry from the one third shall be, Ooooooooo!, lots of those miserable Iraqis were our labor commodity. They should come over here, and continue in that capacity. We need all those miserable Iraqis over here, to help with our labor commodity, making up for those of US who can’t or won’t do anything.

Yep. If US was a democracy, two thirds beats one thirds, any day. But US is not a democracy. Not even close. Besides, if most of the two thirds are pacifists, who cares? Besides, who knows how our Media Liberal came up with two thirds. Where were the two thirds during Shock and Awe?

So Red, all this is old news, some might aver. What’s the ovation?

All righty then. Anon, CENSORED.
_____

Whoa! Apparently, the Ark Druid finds Red’s Ovation too startling. Yet many know there is but a single institution left among US with the power to save US from imperialism. Hint. That institution is not the Democratic Party.

Grasshopper Torture!!!!

Crumby! You are fixing to catch hell!

No, no, no Rayetta. I am entirely innocent. Mercy! I didn’t do it. Uh. I’m really sorry. I won’t do it again, ever. All righty then?

Shame on you Crumby! Putting poor Lleu Llaw up to torturing grasshoppers. Shame, shame, shame on you, Crumby! Did you consider the peril you put poor Lleu Llaw in? Torturing grasshoppers is the same sort of high jinks that got him into trouble with the WG in the first place. I know you Crumby. You thought and thought. How can I, the wily ovate, retain a batman in servitude forever? Er. OK, I shall lead that batman into sin, sin comparable to the sin that got him in trouble in the first place. Is that what you thought, Crumby?

No, no, no Rayetta. Uh. Well maybe, sort of. But all that thought was unconscious thought. Uh. Maybe.

Hmmm. How do you feel now Crumby? How do you feel, now that your wickedness has been laid bare.

Terrible!

Good. Now, surely you may learn something interesting about grasshoppers without torturing them. Do you surmise you can do that, Crumby?

Maybe. Who tattled on me, Rayetta?

A litttle birdy told me, Crumby, a little birdy. But I see, Crumby, that you do not feel terrible enough, for you are already contemplating pay back. So now you are fixing to get tortured yourself, so you will know just how awful torture is and shall have more empathy for the tortured in the future, maybe. Lomo, bind Crumby to his Lazy Boy.

Huh, huh, huh. Lomo bind Crumby to Lazy Boy?

Yes Lomo, tie Crumby up, then stick this faux apricot fried pie in his mouth.

No, no, no! Get off me you great ape! Mercy Rayetta! Get him off me! Help, help, help, help! Mmmmph!

There. That’s better. Thank you Lomo. Now we shall all assemble here in the parlor for a nice Powerpoint featuring grasshopper photographs. Yoohoo, everyone it’s time for the grasshopper Powerpoint. Come find a place to sit in the parlor.

Oh, this shall be such fun. Crumby, did you know that I invited the Tabby Lab and the Joke Factory to the Power Point? Look, Crumby. Everyone is assembling. Here comes Badgemagus and Ms. Merriam Webster and Nancy and Mary the Virgin, and Karl the Tracker Druid. Goodness! Everyone is coming into the parlor. Isn't this exciting! Hello everybody! Hello Dr. Swineherd. Sit over there next to Red. Oh my goodness, Nancy the Goddess of Practical Jokes. It has been too long. Blah, blah, blah!

Goodness. Lometa, don’t you look cute today. Why don’t you sit next to Crumby. Better yet, sit on the arm of his Lazy Boy. Now Lometa, you mustn’t pester Crumby or annoy him unnecessarily. You see that he’s tied up, don’t you dear? Also, Lomo, shall be sitting on the other side of Crumby. Won’t that be fun!

Now everyone. Hurry up and find a seat. Besides the Grasshopper Power Point, which may not be of interest to everyone, I have also decided to show all our Hawaii trip pictures, first. Everyone feel free to comment on those. Plus, we shall all vote on the various categories of the Hawaii trip pictures, for example, the prettiest picture, the silliest picture, the best lady’s outfit picture, etc. Won’t that be fun! But the Hawaii trip pictures could take awhile. So Hope and Olwen have baked up three fifties of apricot fried pies. Plus there are a great many other treats including a keg of Dolmen. So everyone, don’t stand on ceremony, feel free to partake of the treats anytime. Now then, before I begin the slide show, are there any questions?

Why’s my bosom companion tied up to his Lazy Boy, Rayetta?

Well Ray, Crumby is tied up because he has been very naughty. And now, Crumby is being taught a lesson. In fact, Crumby is being tortured. And Ray, do not, I repeat, do not save Crumby any apricot fried pie. Watching everyone eat up all the pies is part of Crumby’s torture. Do you understand all that, Ray?

Er. All righty then, Rayetta.

OK. Quiet everyone. Here’s our first Hawaii picture. Who knows what that is?

Lleu Llaw - My Master Discovers Pegs

Naturally, the duty fell upon me, Lleu Llaw, humble servant to Crumby the Ovate. What duty? Easy that, capture one of those pegged grasshoppers, and take a picture of its peg. That peg or whatever shall be our first lesson in grasshopper anatomy.

Yepper, Crumby happened to be thumbing through my grasshopper tome when he espied Fig. 4. labeled as, Spur, prosternal spine of spurthroated grasshopper. Reflexively, my Master totally forgot the spell denoting this structure and gave it a new spell, peg. That’s no spur Lleu Llaw, that’s a peg. I need a picture of one of those pegs. You, Lleu Llaw need to capture one that looks just like Fig. 4.

How might I go about capturing that kind of grasshopper, Master?

Easy that Lleu Llaw, once upon a time I had a trusty large dip net. I removed from that dip net the web designed for our finny friends and substituted a net more appropriate for our insect friends. In those days, I sewed, efficaciously, so easy that. You could use that apparatus, Lleu Llaw, to capture the requisite grasshopper, but alas, the netting has all rotted away. Here, take this shoe box. You can grab that grasshopper with yer steady hand, then stick it in the shoe box. Uh. Lleu Llaw, don’t let the Lovely Druidess know what yer up to!

But Master, where shall I go to find such and such a pegged grasshopper?

Easy that Lleu Llaw. Those particular grasshoppers eat grass. Look for it in the grass. The more grass, the more likely you are to glom on to one of the subject grasshoppers. Uh. OK Lleu Llaw, once you get it on its back in the shoe box fer to take the picture of the peg, make sure that the shoe box is situated as framed in the camera all within the grasshoppers habitat and preferred food items since in this situation, those ecological items, habitat and food are the same difference. That way the picture shall reflect somewhat of the ecology of that grasshopper, notwithstanding the shoe box. Now head on out Lleu Llaw, while I distract the Lovely Druidess.

Mercy! The trouble with having an ovate for a Master is, I am seldom aware whether he is ovating versus bull shitting. Out I headed into the hot yet humid environment of the east pasture. Sure enough, at the very first or maybe second big patch of big grass I espied a grasshopper grappled onto a shrubbery rooted in the midst of the grass. Hark! That may be the very type grasshopper I am seeking. Reckon I can get a look at its prosternum without actually having to touch it?

Sure enough, with scant contortion I managed to espy the prosternum of that particular grasshopper. And that prosternum, sported a peg. Ha! This is my lucky day. Now if only that grasshopper will hold still while I take its picture. Hold it! That grasshopper may be dead. It has shown nary a sign of life. My master shall know if I have taken a picture of a dead grasshopper. Mercy! Should I poke it to see if it is alive? No, wait! I shall take the picture first, then poke the grasshopper to see if it is alive after I take the picture. That is a way better methodology, for I shall have my picture, yet if the grasshopper is dead, I shall merely find another grasshopper. Yet if it is not dead, I am all done.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Venting

All righty then. Since we CB Druids have been fairly good girls and boys for a fairly long interval of what passes for time, the Ark Druid has decided to let up on the censorship, to see how that works for a nonce or twain. So here's my bosom companion Crumby, shorn of his better sense, all riled up.

Crumby Vents

Dang it! Hold it! I was fixing to get aggravated on account of the Mammonites are fixing to have the opinion that one of my old gravy trains, the black-capped vireo (Vireo atricapilla) (BCV), or however those responsible party knuckleheads spell the scientific name these days, is merely threatened, not endangered. But then I thought, OK, I can live with threatened since we are dealing with the virtual versus the real, anyway.

What set me off on this was a Robert somebody or other who wrote in one of those stupid letters to the editor in our doofus newspaper. Jeez Louise! It is certainly a character failing that I still ever bother to read that crap, ever. No doubt, my wicked, plus ignorant Christian past, influences me to read that ignorant and vulgar, plus dopey newspaper.

Anyway, Robert what’s his name wrote in this letter to the dopey paper that I happened to read. The gist of Robert’s opinions stated in his letter is that the US FWS never had a clue as to how many BCVs were habitating anywhere except maybe the Kerr Wildlife Management Area and similar well known parts. All that is true. So the FWS listed the BCV as endangered, only speculating on how many BCVs were extant.

Then, surprise, surprise, as a direct result of the listing process, a tiny number of people, most of whom I know personally, plus me, found lots more BCVs. How easy was that? Really easy, for the slightly observant. Ha! We all got paid with money that would never have been forthcoming except for the ESA. So now there are way more BCVs than was originally thought, documented. My goodness, there are several thousand. Good Goddess, there are almost half as many or 25% maybe BCVs, total, as there are Mammonites habitating in Bee Caves.

Then also Robert what’s his name really pissed me off, whining about the poor, forlorn, small ranchers whose lives were ruined by the listing of the BCV as endangered. What a crock of shit, that is? Jeez Louise! That is sooooooooooo shit worthy. There has been no, that is no, enforcement of the ESA on private property in the Republic of Tejas for so long that I can not ever remember the last time the ESA got enforced relative to the BCV. In fact, such an action may have never happened, ever. What a crock?

Well, all righty then, maybe some dimwit landowner bragged that he had been shooting and then eating BCVs for years and somebody reported that idiot.

Yep. I eat them vermin. Otherwise, the guvment might seize my storage area. Best to eat ‘em up, so they won’t be no evidence.

This is of course, total bullshit braggadocio. No land owner in these parts can identify much of any biological elements on their properties by themselves, much less a tiny dickey bird.

Yet our dimwit landowner may have brought himself to the attention of the virtual enforcement division of US FWS.

Mercy! Sir, you must stop bragging about eating those BCVs. Mercy! Eating those BCVs is against the law. You may get in trouble if a Democrat ever gets elected again, maybe. So watch out!

Robert what’s his name did have one opinion that is right on though. The developers have had no trouble with the ESA in these parts. In fact, the developers have had lots of help coping with the virtual aspects of the ESA. In fact, it is as if the ESA was penned, just for them.

Holy Smokes! I seldom allow myself to get this riled up about virtual bullshit anymore. Aloha pendechos! And remember, some of your tax money is now in my checking account. Plus, I used some of your tax money to pursue my hobbies. Plus, without your tax money I would have never had the leisure time to study up on how to become a Druid. Suckers!!!!

Ray’s Rainfall Update Plus Crumby Lectures on Orthoptera

Yesterday, the CB enjoyed scanty showers that put 0.08" into the trusty gauge, enough to drown one hover fly. The new total is 42.86" + 0.08" = 42.93". Praise the Goddess! Hold it! I have visitors, none other than my bosom companion, Crumby the Ovate, plus Crumby’s faithful batman, Lleu Llaw Guffes, Lion of the Steady Hand. Whut’s happenin’, dudes?

Ray, my bosom companion plus incomparable Sun God Trainee, the twain of us, both myself, and Lleu Llaw here, have arrived at the venue so that all three of us may learn somewhat of a methodology for application to the CB grasshoppers, only excluding the nasty crickets. But before I address all that, did you know Ray, that the Unification Church Mammonites, also known to the vulgar as Moonies, have a Sun God Trainee secreted away somewhere on our tiny yet perilous globe?

Yepper. I know that, Crumby.

Er. All righty then. Let’s proceed with the Orthopterans then, minus the nasty crickets. There are many grave perils associated with the study of grasshoppers. For example, suppose the katydid one is desiring to examine is already captured by a giant spider, its noggin eaten down to the bone, or whatever, maybe the trachea. What do you do then? Easy that, one has to look around for a similar katydid somewhere else.

Then there is the problem of identifying the grasshopper or katydid to some satisfactory taxonomic level. For such to occur, satisfactory identification that is, the subject of interest must somehow be apprehended for a timely yet safety wise interval. We shall dub this process catch and release. Everybody needs to be aware that catch and release is a Potential Safety Topic - Environmental Hazard. Briefly, one does not want any harm to come to the captured, lest the Lovely Druidess get wind that one is torturing or murdering hapless grasshoppers for sport. Also, some of the katydids are vicious biters so one does not want the tables to get turned on one and have to seek first aid for a savage katydid bite. Penultimately, the grasshoppers are likely to spit in yer eye. So one has to watch out for that too. Uh! Ray, one of those grasshoppers kicked paydirt in yer face once, right?

That is correct, Crumby.

OK. So that is yet another dangerous situation one has to watch out for. So now we have fairly covered most of the safety subtopics associated with this endeavor. Yet the question remains, how the heck do we identify these vermin to a satisfactory taxonomic status. Recently, Lleu Llaw got a tome for his birthday. All of us need to study up on that tome. That tome may partially facilitate our desired understanding of some taxonomic level or other. Yet many of these Vegan or omnivorous vermin habitating at the CB may not be in included in that tome. So once we have safely apprehended a subject vermin we may have to take lots of pictures of its different parts, especially its wee-wee parts. Then, later on, perhaps the WG shall send us an epiphany or two so that eventually we may come to understand what kind of vermin we are actually dealing with.

That is our methodology. Is all that understood, Ray?

Yepper.

How about you, Lleu Llaw, do you understand all that?

Yepper.

All righty then. Now which one of you twain is going out to round us up a grasshopper?

Rayetta's Butterflies - Behavioral Notes - Brazilian Skipper

There I was out in the pecan orchard in one of the Ruellia drummondiana patches. The time, about 1 PM. By that time, the Ruellia blossoms are going deciduous for the day. Undeterred by this fact of nature, a Brazilian skipper, visiting the blossoms for a late lunch, trapped itself under a deciduous blossom. Both plummeted to earth. Goodness! Up bounced that skipper though. Here it is, visiting yet another blossom. Skippers, especially Brazilian skippers, appear to be the only butterflies interested in this species of Ruellia.

Lleu Llaw Guffes, the Lion of the Steady Hand, Engages Order Orthoptera

A cautionary note! Consider the long view. Consider all your potential iterations, evil doers.

Here I am, poor, miserable Lleu Llaw, one time mighty prince of the Cymry, known throughout parts of those historic parts for my steady hand. There I was, a Sun God Trainee, yet now reduced to servitude, suffering through a step and fetch it existence is my present, miserable lot. Plus, my master, the Crumby Ovate, is crazy. Crazy masters can be very annoying.

Yet, the Merciful White Goddess is justly punishing me for my wickedness. I was very bad. So now She has taken me down a notch or two from my lofty Sun God Trainee height. Even so, servitude under the wily yet crazy Crumby is a step up from my previous existence, pinned as I was in a collection box at Arianrhod’s Castle. Mercy for those who wind up at Arianrhod’s. That particular sister of mine is indifferent to long suffering and forgetful.

Anyway, Crumby decided a while back that I needed some additional chores. He thought and thought. I could tell he was thinking because Crumby assumes a thinking posture when he thinks. Some may be aware of that posture. Yet many may be ignorant. That posture goes thus, Crumby stands on his left foot with his other foot hooked behind the left most leg. Then also he covers his left eye with his right hand. My job, when Crumby is thinking, is to watch out for anything that might drop on him, or otherwise sneak up on him, then ward that terrorist or Potential Safety Topic - Environmental Hazard off, so that Crumby may continue with his thoughts, uninterrupted.

A while back was my birthday, Day 223 of DY 1. Crumby gave me the afternoon off. Also, I got half a small watermelon that Crumby had forgotten about and left overlong in the ice box.

Here Lleu Llaw. Try this watermelon out on yer birthday. It’s delicious, maybe. You can have the afternoon off. I am afflicted with weariness. A nap is the only remedy for that weariness. So I won’t be able to monitor yer activities during my nap interval, anyway.

A while later, on Day 236 of DY 1, I was approached by the Lovely Druidess Rayetta. I like the Lovely Druidess. Sometimes she intervenes when my cruel Master tortures me unnecessarily; like when Crumby handed me a tube of Super Glue and ordered me out into the vast expanse of the pecan orchard.

Ye need to have all those broken limbs glued back on in their proper attitudes by Ogma’s fickle failing, Lleu Llaw. Otherwise, I shall have no pecan pie fer my supper, ever.

The Lovely Druidess put a stop to all that. Yet:

Goodness Lleu Llaw. I forgot your birthday. Nevertheless, I have made amends for my forgetfulness,. Crumby informs that you are surpassingly interested in grasshoppers. So I have a nice present for you, a grasshopper tome. Now you shall learn all about the grasshoppers habitating at the CB. Plus, you may include your discoveries on the venue. Won’t that be fun!!!!

Thank ye, thank ye kindly Lovely Druidess for the magnificent tome.

You are welcome Lleu Llaw. Happy birthday.

The Lovely Druidess sashayed off. As I squatted in my humble laboratory cubicle and bedroom, spit polishing my Master’s numerous optical devices, my Master’s wily plan at last intruded into my own noggin. Crumby wants to know all about the grasshoppers. Yet I, his humble servant, Lleu Llaw, shall be the pack mule for that knowledge.

So Ray, the Sun God Trainee hereabout, kindly leant me an electric facsimile from his grasshopper picture collection. It is, I am informed, a shield back, long horned grasshopper, perhaps more properly named, katydid. Ray spells, check out the ovipositor on that young lady!

Ray's Rainfall Update

All righty then. I'm wound down. Now is the time for yet another merciful rainfall update. This is Day 238 of DY 1. The new total is 42.86". Now I am worn out. I shall go take a nap.

Crumby! What are you fixing to do with those foreskins? What? No don't throw 'em out. I may need those foreskins for later. OK. All righty then.

Ray's Rainfall Update - The Flipflopper Party

The cosmic yet localized good versus evil spat goes on and on. Yet most of US are flipfloppers. How stupid is that? Consider the humble flipflop, a foot gear that protects only the sole of the foot, maybe. Those making little progress in fire ant plus sticker bur country wear flipflops. Plus, flipflops may have a sissy connotation.

Why are they spelled flip flops? They don't flip flop. They slap up and down on the heel.

Ha! Some relative semi-genius at some Mammonite think tank thought up the notion of flip flopper in the political context. Yeah dude. Everybody hates sissy flipfloppers. Or maybe not. Seems like there are more and more accused flipfloppers these days.

So perhaps US needs a new political party, the Flipflop Party. The Flipflop Party might easily incorporate the platforms of both the extant political parties. The Flipflop Party could flipflop on every issue, except those nearest and dearest to US; the freedom of potential access to storage, protection of the right to store freely and protection of the stored stuff.

Er. I may have to reflect some more on the potential of the Flipflop Party, anon.

Anyway, last night, via the magical process of precipitation, 0.81" entered the trusty gauge. The new, all important total is, 41.87" + 0.81" = 42.68". Praise the Goddess!

Now it is raining again. The rain is how come I am spelling as opposed to werkin' in the sun. Like those historical yet imaginary rednecks cited by George Wallace formerly, I would be werkin' in the sun, except for the rain.

Tomorrow is delicious cinnamon bun day. Mmmmm-boy!

OK. I have reflected barely some more on the Flipflop Party potential. But what I can't figure out is, how to attract anyone with any principles beyond cache preservation. Jeez Louise! I don't want to found a new political party just like the other two.

Blah! Blah! Blah! I am winding down from all the excitement of werkin' in the sun. There I was, werkin' in the sun when the tuber plus edible root giants started rolling those great and semi-great food items down into the cellar. Then, a while later, I got fairly soaked by the rain. So to make up for all that and restore balance to a highly localized universe, I got a treat. The treat is, a pint of Wells Bombardier English Premium Ale, alcohol 5.2% by volume.

The English are historically horrible people, occupying that imperial niche between Rome and US, but they do make good ale. (I have heard that the English hunted the indigenous Australians for sport, for example). Yep. It's a good ale, but not as good as Fuller's Extra Special Bitter. I am fixing to guzzle up a pint of ESB, next.

All righty then. All this is certainly fairly innocuous spelling. After all, Shakespeare may have been English. At least he spelled in English, sort of. So that may excuse the dreadful English from their Australian shenanigans. But maybe not. Course not, actually. Plus, they introduced rabbits to Australia. How stupid is that?

Ahhhh! The ESB may be better. But not by much. How could people who make such good ale, be such imperialists? I shall have to consider that issue as part of my Sun God training. Or maybe not. Perhaps the English shall all be drowned anon, and trouble the globe, no more. Oh well.

On the homefront, in these parts, interestingly, apparently, Dell the computer assembler company, accounting division plus Mammonite bosses, has been cooking the books for the last four years. I sure hope no one I know and like was in any way disadvantaged by all that.

All righty then. This is Ray Pistrum, Sun God Trainee, signing off.

Watch out for the Wicker Man!!!!

Ray's Rainfall Update

Here we are on Day 237, DY 1. We are the survivors, so far. Yet many have perished. Perhaps they are in a better place. Perhaps not.

Miserable Iraq is pretty interesting. Yesterday, for example, I learned of Yazidis, a mysterious religious and/or ethnic group, some of whom got blown up by the Sunni Arabs. Having never heard of Yazidis, plus curious by nature, I decided to look them up on the internet, and read all the information contained on a couple of the more reputable seeming sites.

Like almost all of US, I know virtually nothing about miserable Iraq, even after all this time of being taxed for the imperial occupation of same. So I have no idea if any of the information I read about the Yazidis is true. But true or not, some of the information was interesting and might prove useful to a Sun God Trainee such as myself. For one thing, somebody is of the opinion that Yazidis are descended only from the Red Man, Adam. The rest of US, conversely, are descended from both Adam and Eve, and therefore, contaminated by whatever. If I remember correctly, according to the same opinion, the mother of the Yazidis is something called a houri. Er.

All righty then. How is this information of potential usefulness to a Sun God Trainee such as myself? Well, this information is theoretically useful in the sense that my training includes comparitive religion. Now I have discovered a religion that I was completely ignorant of prior to yesterday. So that's good. The practical significance, assuming my eventual matriculation to full Sun God status, is that I shall be able to communicate with the miserable Yazidis, perhaps through a translator, that I am a Sun God deserving of admission to their pantheon of angels or whatever. For this practice to work out though, I need to matriculate before the Sunni Arabs murder all the Yazidis. That may be a long shot.

I wonder, shall the Goddess have pity on the miserable Yazidis? Not if the opinions I read about those Yazidis reflect their actual thinking on their realtionship to the Goddess. Noper, She shall show no pity at all, a-tall.

Yet the CB was blessed with 1.2" of rainfall today. The new all important total is 40.67" + 1.20" = 41.87". Praise the Goddess!

Ray's Thought for the Day - Werkin' in the Sun, Noper

There's a fair sized bunch of clouds raining on these parts today. Therefore, werkin' in the sun is not an option. All righty then. This rain has come about just when the dragonflies and their food items had all but disappeared from the CB.

Two plus weeks of hot dry weather allowed the tent caterpillars which afflict the pecan trees to enjoy a population explosion. There they are messy tents of caterpillars plus caterpillar waste products, happily ensconced in their messy tents, chewing their way up limb, expanding their messy tents, up limb.

This rain shall slow them down. Apparently, they do not function efficiently under conditions of rain. That's good. Sometimes they eat too much. Plus, there are never enough predators to keep them from eating too much.

Er. The other issue with those pecans, most of which are a self-pruning cultivars here abouts, is that they are limb wimpy. The knuckleheads who engineered those cultivars thought, we shall produce a cultivar pecan that shall have great big heavy fat fruits. Then, instead of having to pick up all those fruits off the ground, the limbs shall break off from the weight of the fruit. That way the fruit shall be easier to pick.

Course the knuckleheads, being knuckleheads, did not improve on nature quite as they anticipated. So what happens is, the limbs do not break clean, but instead hang vertically, held at the break point by the most proximal to the ground, sapwood and bark. Hark! The fruit is still unripe. What should I do?, hope that the fruits shall mature in situ, or lop off the great limbs entirely? Mercy! Those limbs may be a Potential Safety Topic - Environmental Hazard!

Anyway, in this situation, those tent caterpillars might have eaten up enough of the leaves to alleviate the great weight that caused the limbs to break in the first place. Except that, all the caterpillar poop is constrained in the webs, plus the mass of the leaves is converted into caterpillars, also constrained inside the tent that is moving up limb. It is a lose, lose situation for the pecan pie lover.

Yet soon, all those in these parts, afflicted by the knucklehead cultivar pecans, shall have great piles of limbs situated for pick up and eventual composting. Ha! We'll get pie in the sky when we die.

Crumby Ovates - The Dictatorship of the Global Super Rich

That’s US, the hiney end of the Dictatorship, ten years hence. Ooooh! We won’t even notice the changes. Humans never notice changes. That’s because we forgot to notice in the first place, and thus, lack a basis for comparison, or we noticed and disremembered, or we were not born yet.

Yet change is inevitable. However, ten years hence, Bill Maher shall be spoofing the dictator. What great merriment that spoofing shall engender. Ha, ha! Yepper, the dictator, as opposed to the kinglet shall have, as head of state, two main jobs. Those jobs, the only jobs the state shall be doing, shall be labor management and imperialism. The dictator shall order the comings and goings of the laborers domestically, plus, insure that plenty of laborers are distributed where they are needed in the colonies.

All the other jobs the state does now, actually or virtually, shall become entirely virtual. By the bye, some may wonder what a virtual state job is. What is an example? Well, any job related to the Endangered Species Act is now a virtual job. Ten years hence, all government jobs outside the labor management and imperialism spheres shall be virtual jobs, or more likely, those positions shall be outsourced to become the responsibility of one or another of the global super rich. Course the super rich person will not actually do any virtual work. He shall have the virtual work performed by a labor commodity person supplied to him by the dictator. Or, he will hire a relative.

Yes, the state as we know it shall cease to exist with its measly current functions outsourced to the global super rich. If there is a supply of anything in those days, we shall demand it, just like these days. Why is it supply and demand, rather than, demand and supply? Because US is too dern stupid to know the difference. So the two are the same difference.

Will there still be taxes ten years hence? Surely. The colonies’ doings shall require lots of taxes. But mostly the taxes shall go to make sure the global super rich stay super rich. So rich, in fact, that the part of their wealth that goes to purchase the labor commodity, also known as trickle down, shall seem but a pittance of what that is, even now.

Ha, ha! Yes the super rich shall get super duper rich. The freedom and storage capacity of the super duper rich shall be unsurpassed in all the history, any of US can remember. Those born today shall assume, in ten years, that either one is born super duper rich or one is born a labor commodity. Yep. They shall assume that is the natural order. They won’t know any different. Plus, nobody of any account shall remember any different. Or, those that do remember different, shall lack a basis for comparison, or shall lack quantitative data to back up their silly, old-fashioned, goofy opinions.

Besides, history matters not, because change is inevitable. Inevitable change renders the past irrelevant. The dictator shall know this. The dictator shall be a man of action. A man who is always correct, via the certitude of self-definition. The dictator can do no wrong. I am the dictator. Therefore, I can do no wrong.

Shall the dictator be dictator for life? Course he will.

About this time though, the Goddess shall pull the rug out from under all of US. There we shall be. Tens of thousands of global super duper rich with all the ideas, all the power, all the money, and most importantly, all the storage, plus a pocket dictator to co-ordinate the balance of US. There shall be hundreds of millions of US. Mercy! How shall we all behave? What shall we do? The choices are two, barbarism and barbarism

Ray's Thought for the Day - Rover Bows Out

Where oh where has my little dog gone. Oh where oh where can he be?

Where might Rover go to find an appropriate habitat? Easy that, the options they are tripartite and obvious. The Capital (sic) of the Republic of Tejas, Dubai, and Riyadh. In any of those spots, Rover can run with the big dogs.

Mercy! Rover shall have sooooooooooo many freedom medals on his collar, one from every king, emir and sheik ruling in the lands the Goddess forgot, plus the big Freedom Medal from the land the Goddess is fixing to forget. Yepper! The rulers, potentates, kings, kinglets, grand dragons, large whimwhams, plus assorted Mammonites everywhere shall lavish plenty of treats upon their loyal Rover. He did soooooooooooooo much for them.

Yet, invigorated by all those upcoming treats, plus a good ear scratch, Rover shall continue in his loyal service, no doubt of that. You can’t teach an old dog, new tricks.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Swinghoe

Everyone shall be happy to learn two facts. One, my cinnamon was delicious. Two, my inner thigh chaffing condition has abated so that now I am all set to go swinghoe a path through an impenetrable thicket or two. Once I swinghoe to where I can see what I am doing, those dang Rhynchosia minimas better watch out. R. minima is liable to trip a person up, even me, a Sun God Trainee, so they need thinning out.

R. minima, a well-known snout bean, has a big thick root. So to get shut of it on the swinghoed pathways through the impenetrable thickets, those roots have to be dug up. To complicate matters, they can not be dug out indiscriminately because the dang white-stiped longtails lays eggs on them. So first I have to check the vines to see if any eggs or baby butterflies are habitating on them. All this could take awhile.

Rayetta's Seasonal Notes

Here we go on our ellipse, hurtling through space at our usual pace. This part of the journey is hot and, this time, stickier than usual. Loud is the lamentation of those who forget to change out of their wet clothes, then, chafe themselves. (I got that from Crumby in reference to Ray who has suffered another inner thigh chaffing event). One would think, Ray would learn to change out of his wet underwear when he gets home from work. Usually he does change, but sometimes he does not. So he gets chaffed. Anyway, outside on Day 232 of DY 1, it is hot and sticky. No rain for about 14 days either. So the fire ants have all headed for China. Consequently, I got a tick on me today, for Goddess Sakes. Ticks are very rare these days in these parts.

The CB butterflies have decreased in species and numbers, not counting caterpillars, except for the clouded skipper (Lerema accius), which now may be the most numerous of all the butterflies at the CB. They are early risers however. To get a good count of them, the enumerator must also rise early. Also, there are plenty of buckeyes and gulf fritillaries.

The dragonflies though are quite numerous. Dragonflies are ferocious by reputation with great fierce jaws, used for grinding up gnats and midges. However, even a ferocious dragonfly, like this female eastern amberwing (Perithemis tenera) has to watch out for rambunctious fiery skippers. Fiery skippers are apt to knock her off her perch, no matter how ferocious her reputation. She is 19mm, the littlest of the CB dragonflies.

Later

Hmmm. What do these eat when they can't get me, the Lovely Druidess Rayetta. And why don't these dragonflies come over and get all these mosquitoes. Goodness! That one may have just got one off my right ear. But generally the dragonflies are not where they need to be, protecting me. Yet I am determined to stay out here until the Stygian darkness falls, watching the dragonflies.

Later

OK. Darkness fell upon the land. About when the first firefly lit up, the last 20 or so dragonflies lit out. Or more likely, they dropped into the tall grass prairie simulation in the northeast corner of the east pasture. That is where the last dragonflies were hunting as darkness feel. Curiously, I surmise that these last 20 or so were not among the hoards of tropical skimmers and saddlebags that occupied the same space when conditions were less crepuscular. What the heck are they?

Anyway, my goal was to watch the dragonflies to see if I could discover where they roost. In this, my success was modest. A young male roseate skimmer looked like he was settling down for the night while hanging upon an erect, de-leafed stem of Texas pistache. By then the fireflies had lit up and the rest of the dragonflies had lit out or dropped down. I went to get the camera so I could take his picture. Great! I scared him off. However, I surmise he was fixing to spend the night on that branch, maybe.

But that may account for one out of three fifties of dragonflies that spend all day in that general area. Where did the rest of them go to sleep? Seems like the fences might be a good place for a sleepy dragonfly. I checked some of the fences. No dragonflies.

Tomorrow I am fixing to get up really early. Perhaps I shall surprise some of those dragonflies, yet abed.

Later

Well. I made it out to the area of concern just after Ogma's rising. A romp through the Indiangrass revealed a few dragonflies. Those dragonflies were sleepy, maybe. A couple of them were flying about, but they may have been disturbed by my passage. The rising may be a good time to sneak up on them. Naturally, the mosquitoes that survived the night swarmed me. And the dragonflies did, nothing.

Crumby! Wake up Crumby!

No.

I said wake up! There, that's better. Crumby, do you know anything about dragonfly noggin to thorax articulation? They seem capable of considerable noggin motion. Can they turn their noggins more than 180 degrees? Can they nod?

Uh. I must perform an ablution or two before I can deal with all this. All this is too complex pre-ablution, Rayetta.

Ha! You have no opinions on dragonfly noggin to thorax articulation, do you Crumby. So you are surmising, you shall hide out in the comfort station until I, the Lovely Druidess Rayetta, forget all about dragonfly noggin to thorax articulation.

No, no, no, Rayetta. That's not it at all. I'm simply sleep befuddled and all the waste matter that accrues or travels along during sleep befuddlement is each seeking a way out. Anyway, I do have an opinion. Can I go to the comfort station if I share my opinion?

Certainly, Crumby.

All righty then. What we must do is capture one of those dragonflies. Then we shall experiment to see what object it is most interested in. Once we find an object that holds its attention, we shall tie that object on a string. Then we shall whirl that object around the dragonflies noggin plus bob it up and down in front of that domesticated dragonfly. Soon we shall see what noggin actions it is capable of. Then, once that dragonfly has grown accustomed to domestication and experimentation it shall become a pet. I shall call it Petey. Petey shall ride about perched on the top of my own noggin, ever vigilant for those dipterans that assault me. Petey can eat up all those dipterans that try to get in my ears. Then Petey can temporarily return to the wild, find a mate, and all those baby dragonflies shall also become my pets. I shall have an entire air force of dragonflies dedicated to protecting me from the dipterans. How about that? Can I go now?

Hmmm. By all means Crumby. Head out for the comfort station.

All righty then.

Later.

Yikes! At the CB we have lots of ruellias, both R. drummondiana and R. nudiflora. We have lots. What are they good for? Well, they are good for the bigger skippers. For example, the Brazilian skipper pollinates the ruellias, then goes next door and lays eggs on the neighbor's cannas. The baby Brazilian skippers then defoliate the cannas. It is a win-win situation.

Rayetta's Dragonflies

A good dichotomous key is a joy. A bad dichotomous key is torture. A good dichotomous allows a person of average intelligence to breeze through the identification process. A bad dichotomous key leaves the user wondering if she is an idiot.

Chances are, the user may not be the idiot. What if characters used by the preparer of the key spring only from the imagination of the key prepaper and are nowise described or illustrated, elsewhere, anywhere? Yet the key is described by its author as user friendly. With the semi-burgeoning interest in field guides for taxa more properly studied under the microscope, chances are, again, more and more of those type keys are extant. I am dealing with one of those keys at this very nonce.

All righty then. My methodology for identifying the CB dragonflies to species, (the list of species keeps growing, amazingly) includes getting a picture of the wing venation of each dragonfly. I need at least one forewing and one hindwing in good focus. Then I may have to crop it to as much as 75% or so. Here's one of my wing venation pictures. But also, there are a couple of interesting processes located on the first abodominal segment, maybe.

Will Work for Exercise

What's happening there, bosom companion.

Easy that Ray, tomorrow or day after tomorrow I am headed off to gainful employment. My plan is to situate myself on a shady corner. That shady corner should have lots of traffic, plus a nearby convenience store in case I need to regale myself with a refreshing libation or two. See Ray? I already have my sign made.

Will Work for Exercise

I got the idea for that particular sign from you, Ray. Won't Rayetta be proud of me, when I get a job?

Er. Crumby, I surmise Rayetta may be of the opinion that you are going to make money. Then after you make the money, Rayetta expects you shall buy her a new lens for the new camera. Maybe you better talk this over with Rayetta before you wear yourself to a frazzle, working for exercise.

But Ray, you said they pay a person for exercising. That's what I was counting on. You know, like I would do maybe a couple of hundred pushups, then get paid like a tousand or two tousand dollars. All righty then!

Second thought Crumby, maybe you better not go to Rayetta with this. Maybe we should reason all this out before you spring it on Rayetta. Rayetta may not be in the proper mood for this if you just spring it on her like you did on me. And I tell you Crumby, as your loving bosom companion, plus, you know yourself, that Rayetta generally sees through this kind of antic. Rayetta is liable to feel like you are not sincerely seeking a job, but instead, that you are merely faunching around. Meantime, the new lens release date is hard anon.

But Ray, I will work for exercise.

That's right Crumby. I know you will. In fact, I know you do. Alas though, I now see how my satire has backfired, ensnaring my own bosom companion. Mercy! Er. Hold it! Perhaps you are satirizing me. Are you satirizing me Crumby? Do you dare to satirize a Sun God Trainee, such as myself.

Maybe, maybe not Ray. Perhaps I better go talk this over with Rayetta as you yourself suggested Ray. I can easily explain to Rayetta how I got the idea from you.

OK Crumby. Go ahead on. See if I care. But remember Crumby, the League of Old Men. You don't want to wear yourself out, working for exercise, before the real work commences.

Yepper Ray. I need to get in shape.

All righty then.

Fear Grips US, as Usual, as Usual

Did you know that the Kinglet and Chitlin, plus their nasty families have Sunni Arab business partners? Well, they do. Now, for the next six months, or forever, whichever, the Kinglet and Chitlin may listen in on what their Sunni Arab business partners say on the telephone, plus read their e-mails. Could this potential source of valuable tips and insider information be good for the Kinglet and Chitlin family businesses? You becthum, Red Ryder!

Of course, the Kinglet and Chitlin will not actually read all those e-mails and listen to all those phone calls personally. Noper. Those twain shall undoubtedly outsource that job to one of the family subsidiary businesses. Reckon what that shall cost US?

No wonder fear grips US. We don't know what the Kinglet and Chitlin are really up to. We have no way of finding out what they are up to, either, or of doing anything about the antics of those twain if we did find anything, out. Yep. All this ignorance plus powerlessness may create some of the fear.

Mercy! I am so scared of Chitlin that I shall never make another overseas phone call ever, in addition to the overseas phone conversation I was party to around 1981. That phone call that occurred around 1981, pre-Druid calendar, came all the way from France. Someone at the office kept hollering, Does anyone speak French? We have a French client on the line who does not speak English. Does anyone speak French?

At that time I spoke little or no French. But I volunteered to talk with the French client on the telephone anyway. Jay Ray! Ques coozy vooley voo?

Hey! At least I tried. Everyone else was to afraid to talk with a Frenchman on the phone. Yet, had I known then, what I know now, I might also have been too afraid to attempt a civil discourse with that Frenchman. Mercy! Anything could happen in that sort of situation these days, especially when one has to make up words to a foreign language as one talks along. Yikes! I could say something weird and wind up the next day in Gitmo. And again, the same scenario would play out. Where's Ray? Nobody knows. How can we find out what happened to Ray? Nobody knows.

So maybe there is a little more to freedom than secure storage capacity. But maybe not. It depends on how you define, freedom.

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Fear Grips US, as Usual!

Mercy! What if Sunni Arabs are planning to saw down a tree? I could be fixing to walk under that very tree. Yet if those Sunni Arabs discuss their potential tree logging efforts over the phone, or send an e-mail, the Kinglet is liable to catch them in a timely fashion, and save me.

The Kinglet might also learn plenty else. Like, which real estate is hot in Dubai. Or, where the best new oil exploration opportunity is in beautiful Iraqi Kurdistan. There is lots of stuff the Kinglet and his minions could detect. Yet all those potential interesting detections could be good for business, and might cause the Kinglet to forget all about those Sunni Arab foreigners that are fixing to chop down a tree, on me.

Course I realize the Kinglet will not actually read all those e-mails and listen to the phone calls, personally. Who will do that? Whoever does that job shall need to be a speed reader, plus possess speedy ears. And just think. What if the responsible worker misses that one important message out of ten, and a gross or two or maybe four or some other random number of US perish as a result, especially if I perish. Imagine how that worker shall feel then. But of course, the tragedy shall not be that worker’s fault, even though that worker could have prevented that tragedy.

What if that unlucky worker was distracted by a naked picture e-mail when the fateful Sunni Arab message slipped through? What if the picture featured a naked child plus livestock? I bet that worker might have to take responsibility for his actions and apologize, assuming some additional worker caught him out on the child plus livestock porn and added twain plus twain. Unlikely that since the additional worker is probably looking at the same interesting e-mail picture.

Oh well. Freedom is just maximizing storage anyway. So the Kinglet stores messages. Because he can.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Jeez Louise!

Dang it! Werkin' in the sun is exhausting. Especially when a pick, shovel and road base enter in. Any working class dude who can think straight after a day of werkin' in the sun is a miracle of nature. Best not to think at all. Just get a nice spoon feeding and take a nap.

Bowdlerizing Ulyanov, werkin'in the sun may be why the working class can never rise above trade union ideology. Considering how I feel, it's a wonder the working class ever rose even up to trade union ideology. Come to think on it, in these parts, we proles never got even that far, ideologically. These parts is historic scab country. So the highest working class ideology in these parts is scabology.

However, werkin' in the sun is very good exercise. These days, to get a good workout, one has to join a gym and maybe even get a trainer. But werkin' in the sun is not only free exercise, they pay you. How about that? You get to exercise beyond your noggins capacity for appreciating the exercise, plus you get paid.

Perhaps the way to get US to do work, that we can't or won't do, is emphasize the exercise benefits of outdoor manual labor. That's right. Welcome to Hot Mop Heaven. We pay you to exercise in the beautiful outdoors. No, we do not provide health insurance, but if you work awhile at Hot Mop Heaven, you will be so healthy you won't need any insurance. Fresh air, sunshine and the sweat of the brow. Those shall cure what ails ye at Hot Mop Heaven.

Or, perhaps manual labor employers could advertise themselves as exercise spas. Here's your grubbin' hoe, buddy. It's going to be hot today, so I guarantee you'll lose 30lbs off that lard ass, plus, maybe a digit if ye aint careful with the grubbin' hoe.

Ray's Thought for the Day - The Lesser Gold Finches

Also sometimes known in these parts as the least gold faunchers.

Yessiree Bob. The gold faunchers showed up for the first time in DY 1 this morning on Day 226, Praise the Goddess. The annual sunflower seeds are ready, so the gold faunchers came around for a free breakfast. All us CB Druids get really excited by this annual event because the least gold fauncher is our favorite fringillid. Right sis?

That's right Ray. And this year I just managed to get a poor quality documentation picture lacking any artistic merit whatever. That should please Red, but not me, the Lovely Druidess Rayetta. I have come to expect more from myself and my electro-photo tools. That means Crumby has to get another job. I need the upcoming 70-300mm lens with close up capability that is upcoming. So Crumby needs to get another job. Where is that Crumby, Ray? Where is your bosom companion?

Er. The last time I espied Crumby, he was out in the east pasture, postured in deep thought mode.

Hmmm. Perhaps Crumby is thinking about how to get a job that shall pay for my new camera lens. I bet that is just what Crumby is up to, Goddess all righty!

Maybe so, Rayetta.

Meantime, out in the east pasture Crumby is deep in reflective thought.

There I was, a wage slave, afflicted by all the common grievances that afflict the average wage slave. However, due to my various nervous conditions and overall delicacy, I was more afflicted than anyone else among all those other wage slaves, my fellow workers and workerettes. I know that, because I was the only wage slave with a huge boil.

Yep, that was a terrific boil brought on by the conditions of wage slavery at TxDOT, also known as the World's Most Over Funded State Agency. Those conditions made me so nervous I got a boil. That particular boil was located just to the left of my spine almost in the middle of my back. I could just barely reach that boil and I could only espy it by using two mirrors in conjunction.

I kept explaining to Rayetta, Rayetta that boil is getting huge. That boil is hump-back size. I know exactly how that humpback felt at Notre Dame, having almost an identical employment situation as compared to that humpback. You got to lance that boil. I can't reach it.

La de da, Crumby. No way your working condition is comparable to poor Quasimodo's. For instance, you don't get whipped. Anyway, that boil must come to a head before I fix it. Crumby, don't you squeeze that boil. You'll just make it worse.

That boil got bigger and bigger. Plus it started to itch. It itched most at work. So I was constantly on the watch for potential scratching posts at work. It figures, given I was dealing with the approximate same working conditions suffered by the unfortunate Quasimodo, minus the whippings, that scratching posts were a rarity in those parts, and all the best ones were located outside the building on the trees. For Goddess Sakes, I would sometimes be forced to stop work so I could go outside and enjoy a good scratch.

Rayetta got too busy to monitor my boil. Days or maybe months went by with no outside attention paid to my boil. Then one day when I got home from wage slavery, plus that boil itching like crazy, I reached around as far as I could reach. Mercy! I gave it a good squeeze. Mercy! That boil exploded all over the comfort station. I was so ashamed. Plus it took an hour to clean up, after that boil exploded.

Dern it! How can I explain to Rayetta about my boil exploding, maybe prematurely? Well Druids don't lie so I decided to see if Rayetta might forget about my boil. Amazingly, she did forget about it. That should of been the end of that. But of course the Quasimodo-like conditions of labor at TxDOT did not improve one whit. So it was not long before the boil came back, bigger than ever. Mercy!

Rayetta, this boil is big as a pigeon egg. Is it ready yet?

No Crumby. That boil must come to a head. Don't you dare squeeze it. You'll make it worse.

Night after night for maybe a year I queried Rayetta, Is it ready yet? But that boil refused to come to a head. It grew and grew. Eventually that boil reached the approximate dimension of a guinea hen egg. Mercy! I am just like that dern humpback. I'm just exactly the dern same as poor old miserable Quasimodo. Boo-hoo-hoo!

For Goddess Sakes Crumby, stop that whining. Bend over in the light so I can have a look at it. Goodness! That boil is huge. Oh my goodness. It has come to a head. Crumby, go get me some tissues and alcohol.

You have to watch out Rayetta, that boil may be fairly explosive. Maybe a washrag or towel might work better than tissues.

Hmmm. Maybe so Crumby. You better bring along those items as well.

Fortunately fer me, not much of the exploding boil got on Rayetta, only just a little in her hair. Plus she had to work on that boil for several nights or maybe weeks in succession before she got it entirely under control.

Praise the Goddess, with wage slavery behind me, I am boil free.

Rayetta’s Butterflies - Butterfly Presence at the CB, Early Beelzebubberriffic, DY 1

These are the butterflies seen practically every day at the CB for about the last 100 days, perhaps in order of decreasing density.

Bordered patch Chlosyne lacinia the most abundant
Phaon Crescent Phyciodes phaon lots of frogfruit
Texan crescent Phyciodes texana
Hackberry Emperor Asterocampa celtis
Question Mark Polygonia interrogationis
Gulf Fritillary Agraulis vanillae
Queen Danaus gilippus
Common Buckeye Junonia coenia
Gray Hairstreak Strymon melinus

Separating out the skippers:

Southern Skipperling Copaeodes miminus
Orange Skipperling Copaeodes aurantiaca
Fiery Skipper Hylephila phyleus
Dun Skipper Euphyes vestis
Clouded Skipper Lerema accius lots more over the last 50 days
Horace’s duskywing Erynnis horatius

The above are the CB, fifteen most continuously numerous butterflies during early Beelzebubberiffic, DY 1.

Additionally, the butterflies listed below were intermittently common during this time period, early Beelzebubberriffic.

Dainty Sulphur Nathlis iole early
Little Yellow Pyrista lisa lately
Red Admiral Vanessa atalanta early
American Lady Vanessa virginensis early
Silvery Checkerspot Chlosyne nycteis lately
Pearl Crescent Phyciodes tharos
Black Swallowtail Papilio polyxenes
Fatal Metalmark Calephelis nemesis
Tawny Emperor Asterocampa clyton
Monarch Danaus plexippus early
Goatweed Leafwing Anaea andria

Skippers

Sachem Atalopedes campestris
Southern Broken-Dash Wallengrenia otho
Funereal Duskywing Erynnis funeralis

The remainder of the butterflies reported on in Rayetta’s Butterflies are increasingly intermittent, or occur at much lower densities than the above. If you have any native plants nearby your habitation, and if you habitate south of the dammed river in the capital (sic) city of the Republic of Tejas, you may have lots of these butterflies, too.

Rayetta's Butterflies - A Lull in the Action

Oh for Goddess sakes. I forgot to get Lleu Llaw a birthday present. Crumby, did you arrange anything for Lleu Llaw on his birthday.

Yepper Rayetta. He got the afternoon off and some watermelon.

That's nice. Poor Lleu Llaw. When shall the Goddess redeem him from servitude? Well, I shall go shopping tomorrow and find something special for Lleu Llaw. What might Lleu Llaw like present wise, do you surmise, Crumby?

Ahem. Lately, Lleu Llaw has shown a keen interest in grasshoppers, Rayetta. So I do surmise, or even ovate, that Lleu Llaw might like a grasshopper tome. Plus, if we had a grasshopper tome, we might put some names to all these voracious herbivores suddenly habitating at the CB.

Hmmm. OK, I shall find Lleu Llaw a grasshopper tome for his birthday. Let's see. Once Lleu gets to work on the grassoppers we shall be documenting the diurnal Lepidoptera, the Odonata of Suborder Anisoptera, the easy Coleoptera, Ray's conspicuous flies, mainly Asilidae, some miscellaneous Insectivora, and grasshoppers. Goodness! Lucky for me and my busy schedule we have a lull in the butterfly action. OK. Crumby did you know that we are up to 12 photographically verified Anisoptera species for the CB, plus another one that has evaded photographic verification?

Noper. Which one has evaded us?

Hmmm. Let's see. That one would be black saddlebags (Tramea lacerata). That one refuses to sit still.

Let's catch it and pose it, Rayetta.

No. We shall wait until it sits down somewhere, then we shall take its picture. Which reminds me Crumby, we need a new picture for the venue. Perhaps a generic happy insect picture. I know. Let's dig out a feeder picture and post that.

All righty then. How about this one, Cotinis nitida plus hackberry emperor plus some of Ray's conspicuous flies on a rotten banana?

All righty then.

What Sets US Off (from the rest of the animals) - continued

Storage requires a nice dry spot to store all the stuff on. That means US has figured out how to create storage spaces that stay dry. These storage spaces generally have a floor raised slightly above the normal surface runoff water level that results from precipitation. Storage spaces may also have a roof and walls or partial walls. Or maybe they lack the walls and roof entirely, and are utilized for storing rain water proof stuff, like automobiles.

Naturally, US being what we are, many of US desire to maximize storage capacity on our personal properties. After all, our property is our god given access to personal freedom and the maximization of storage. So if we maximize storage on our personal properties at 100%, the rain water shall have to go somewhere else, perhaps on to the properties of the adjacent, who were ignorant and failed to maximize their storage capacity, first.

Dang it though. Here comes the dang government again. The dang government wants to regulate storage capacity, thus limiting personal freedom and personal storage capacity. Dang it! Why is the dang government always interfering with freedom?

Another name for personal storage capacity is impervious cover. The dang government has come up with that spell, impervious cover, plus allowable impervious cover notions which are just bureaucratic opinions based on arbitrary standards and red tape that should never apply to anybody seeking to maximize storage on their personal property. Right! Instead of all the goverment red tape, everyone should just agree to maximize the personal storage capacity on their own property. Right! Then the immediate neighbors, the ignorant ones who did not maximize their storage capacity in a timely fashion, in peril of drowning, are free to construct drainage ditches on their properties. Right! See, everything balances out OK in a free society. Right!

The other swell aspect of maximizing personal storage capacity is the impact on everything else. Not only does all the rainwater go somewhere else, so does everything else, or else, because hardly anything can occupy the same space as a concrete slab. Yet even here the dang government has annoying red tape. Right! The government may try to crush the freedom of some freedom loving property owner by asserting, A bug may live there. Whoa! All the more reason to drop a slab, to get shut of that bug. Right!

Mercy though! That bug is wildlife. Wildlife belongs to everyone, the government argues feebly. We have laws to protect that bug so that everyone, even future generations shall have a bug to enjoy or play with, in common.

No such luck for that bug. That bug needs to move over to the neighbors. Those neighbors need a bug because they are ignorant for not building up their storage capacity, so they deserve a bug, plus drainage ditches, plus floods. Right!

Yepper! As humans increase exponentially, and storage space increases even more exponentially, the very smartest humans must remain constantly alert. Threats to freedom and personal storage capacity are everywhere. That's why the dang government needs to quit fussing over that bug, and concentrate on helping to protect the freedom, or personal storage rights of the especially smart. Remember! If yer rich, yer smart.

Ray's Thought for the Day

Yeterday's thought got pulled by the Arkdruid for misspelling and ranting. Oh well. That's bound to happen every once in a while. After all, I'm a trainee.

Update. The previous is revised with perked up spelling and political correctness.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Dr. Paul, Again

As the only avowedly anti-imperialist candidate in the Kinglet candidate crowd, and the only Kinglet candidate that might try to stop the welfare for the rich bunch from looting the national treasury; Dr. Paul appeals. However, we have decided not to send him any money either, the or, being the various Democratic Party candidates. That’s because, like everyone else that gives money to politicians, Druids expect to get a return on the dollar, a big return.

Um. Do you remember the Vietnam imperialist adventure? That was when US fabricated an attack on US, the famous Gulf of Tonkin incident, then US proceeded to occupy the southern part of Vietnam, bomb the shit out of all Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia, and dump lethal chemicals all over Southeast Asia. Ah! The smell of agent orange in the morning. Makes my allergies kick up just thinking about that. Talk about a threat to a personal lifestyle. An all expenses paid visit to Vietnam in those times was just that. Yepper. Those times are hard to forget. US learned from that. What? Easy that, most of US do not make good imperialists. Especially me!

But some of US do make fair imperialists when there are almost free US government handouts involved. Dr. Paul aims to put a stop to all that. Good. More power to Dr. Paul if he can do that. But the Druids still are not fixing to send Dr. Paul any money. Although, Praise the Goddess, getting shut of imperialism would be a return on the Druid dollar, fer sure. However, Dr. Paul may not be totally sincere. Like he may be a Republican. Also, Dr Paul may be the lesser of all evils. But screw that when we are talking campaign contribution.

Now consider these items. First, Dr. Paul is for criminalizing abortion. Druids are of the opinion that abortion should not only be federally funded, but mandatory, for Mammonites. How can we square that contradiction? Easy that, we can’t. So that is a big negative for funding Dr. Paul. Second, Dr. Paul is a state’s rights personage. Normally, anyone who believes in freedom might see state’s rights as opposed to US rights as a good alternative. But we live in the Republic of Tejas (ROT), a Disneyland for the Mammonites. Forget about more power to these ROT Mammonite liars and gluttons. Any bunch that elected the Kinglet, governor, twice; and our well-coifed current, twice, do not need any more rights. Third, Dr. Paul wants the Keep Out the Mexicans Wall plus free trade. How can we make good progress toward free trade, when labor is a commodity just like any other commodity, yet build a Keep Out the Mexicans Wall to keep out the labor commodity component of free trade? Easy that. We can't. Fourth, Dr. Paul is for property rights that pretty much limit my travel in the ROT to Texas Department of Transportation right-of-ways and parking lots. Yepper. Only about 5% of the land in the ROT belongs to the public and a big chunk of that 5% is paved.

So sadly, those are the reasons we Druids can not send Dr. Paul a campaign contribution. Mercy! If a Democratic candidate does not shape up, we may have to write in, uh, me, Ray Pistrum, Sun God Trainee. Er. Should I solicit some campaign contributions? Those might come in handy considering the demands of two beautiful girlfriends and a crazy yet unemployable bosom companion.

Rayetta's Butterflies - A CB - BDS Update - Brazilian Skipper (Calpodes ethlius)

Crumby! Take a picture of that one.

OK Rayetta.

What are you doing Crumby, take the picture!

OK Rayetta. I just need to get the knobs aligned properly.

Huh! Crumby you better get a picture of that big skipper or else.

I'm almost there Rayetta. Praise be to the Merciful Goddess, the knobs or dials are aligned.

The skipper has flown off Crumby. And you may know Crumby, that skipper is a new one for the CB-BDS. So you shall reside here at this very spot until that skipper comes back. Then, you shall take its picture. All righty then.

All righty then, Rayetta. Where are you going?

Into the house. I need to freshen up. Have me a picture anon. I don't want any whining or excuses. I want a picture of that skipper for the CB-BDS, anon.

Well all righty then, Rayettta. Bye. Mercy! It sure is hot out here on the south pasture border. Please WG, grant me a nice picture of this winged vermin expeditiously so that I too may enjoy the AC. Ha! There it is again. Plus the semi-trusty C 5060 has settled down to normalcy. Whirr. Click. Whirr. Click. Now I need to move closer. Whirr. Click. Whirr. Click. All righty then. What's the safest route to the LDR's office? Let's coordinate. Whoa! I need to pee. Where may I do that without being espied? How about rye cheer. Ah! All righty then! AC, here I come.

Gimme that camera, Crumby.

All righty then.

Hmmm. These are identifiable. OK. Crumby, you are a good boy tonight and you shall get a treat. Hmmm. This is the biggest regular skipper I have ever espied. That's +2 on that Rayetta scale. Crumby, do you have an opinion as to the relative tameness versus nervousness of this skipper?

That is a nervous skipper, Rayetta.

That's what I thought. So the scales go to +2 - 3 for the Brazilian skipper. Also, this Brazilian skipper is very interested in Cannas which do not grow at the CB, unless we forget to weed them. Cannas, however, do grow adjacent.