Ray’s Thought for the Day - When Will They Learn, Ever

Seems like another state employee got fired for e-mailing opinions from her agency computer. Here’s how that works. State employee gets frustrated at job.

I know. I shall send an e-mail to a bunch of people, expressing my frustration with my job.

Whoa! State agencies have rules for employees. And the first rule of the state agency is, You don’t talk about your state agency. And the second rule of your state agency is, You don’t talk about your state agency. And, etc. Along about number four on the rules list is, You don’t get caught fornicating in your office, the other firing offense. Then there’s number five, You don’t allow employees under your supervision to fornicate in your office. If you do allow them to fornicate in your office, you will get the bejesus counseled out of you. Away down the list of rules pretty far is dwi and stealing. You’ll get the bejesus counseled out of you for getting caught doing those too, maybe.

Surprisingly, the rules are enforced, selectively. Or, some employees make up their own rules as they go along. For example, our brave Land Commissioner packs heat everywhere, sometimes against rules. He makes up his own rules.

But getting back to the first three rules. Believe it or not, there are still state agency employees beavering away at state agencies in the Republic of Tejas. Believe it or not, a few of them hold opinions inconsistent with the opinions of our well-coifed governor plus the opinions of the nearly omnipotent Kinglet. This interesting clash of opinions results in a dichotomy.

At the same time, hoards of the Kinglet’s minions are leaving DC. They require jobs back here in the ROT. Yet they are ignoramuses, incapable of doing honest work. But that is OK. Because in the ROT there is a supervisory board for every state agency. Those boards are already packed with ignoramuses. Yet plenty more can be stuck on those boards at tax payer expense. The more the merrier. Those ignoramuses, the long ensconced plus the newly ensconced, have plenty of time to monitor e-mails, the purpose of which monitoring, is to catch violators of rules, 1-3.

It is an easy task, spying by the many on the few. And a task for which the Kinglet’s minions have had plenty of training, in DC. So the dichotomy is resolved, easily.

Crumby Meets Trwch Trwyth

I have been born again, to the Goddess. Generally speaking, this time of year I fear for my life. If I feel well enough to fear for my life. Sometimes I feel so bad, I don’t fear for my life. I don’t care. Yet here I am, maximally fired up. Fierce, yet dark and sinister. Old Math ap Mathonwy, knew no more than me. Even Bran the Blessed is a twinkie next to me. Ha!

Yet I have a tiny problem, sort of. My nose hairs have outstripped the rest of me for amazing-ness. Yes they have. Those nose hairs have undergone a metamorphosis slightly in advance of the rest of me. First, they are growing super fast. Second, they are the most marvelous potential woolen fabric or utensil, ever.

Out they have shot from my nostrils, fierce, great bristles. There they go down into my mustache. What shall I do if they intertwine with my mustache? Many shall say, look at Crumby. His nose hairs are pulling his lip up. Soon his lip shall be a cowl upon his head, just like Gwefyl ap Gwastad’s lip is, when he is sad. Yes, it is the nature of nose hairs to intertwine with mustaches, then tug upward. I don’t know why that is.

Those nose hairs have the strength of many. They are nearly impossible to cut. Sharp pointed they are too. So they would make excellent spears for the tiny. In fact, those nose hairs have trade potential. Yep. A subatomic tribe of aborigines has already contacted me. They wish to purchase as many nose hairs as I can provide. They are fixing to use my nose hairs as spears, but only in self-defense. I shall be rich. Rich, beyond my wildest dreams.

But first I have to figure out how to cut my nose hairs. I have tried my red pocket knife, scissors, clippers, lasers, acetylene torches, hand snips, shears, electric razors and Rayetta’s depilatory cream. Nothing works. Mercy!

Er, Twrch Trwyth keeps a comb and shears, between his ears. Those shears are famous for trims of the dark and sinister. Just ask Ysbaddaen, Chief Giant.

Why would a huge, savage pig have a comb and shears between his ears? How did they get there? All righty then. Enough speculation and guesswork. Speculation and guesswork are for sissies. I shall confront the mighty Twrch Trwyth. Maybe he will let me borrow his shears.

He’s a mighty big pig, oh a mighty big pig, yes a mighty big pig is he. Because Twrch Trwyth is so big, he is easy to find. Twrch Trwyth, it is I, the dark and sinister Crumby Ovate. Look! I have a nice treat for you. Would you like a treat?

What treat, Crumby Ovate?

Only the globe’s largest carrot.

Mmmm. Yes. I love carrots.

Here you go.

Oink. Slurp. Smack. Snort. Mmmm. That carrot was delicious, Crumby Ovate.

Glad you liked it. May I borrow your shears, Twrch Trwyth?

What for?

For these nose hairs.

You wish to shear your nose hairs?

Definitely.

OK.

Uh. I am too short to reach those shears.

Well so you are. Here then. I shall lower my snout down to your level. Then you may climb on up my snout.

Thanks Twrch Trwyth. Whoa! It’s still pretty far up there, yonder, betwixt your ears. Perhaps, if you could tilt your head back, I would, aided by gravity, yet constrained by friction, slide on down to the general vicinity of those shears.

All righty then. Here you go.

Uh oh. Yikes! Here I am. OK, Trwch Trwyth. You may assume a normal posture. I am at the shears. Thanks Twrch Trwyth.

You are welcome, Crumby Ovate.

Aha. These shears are perfect. These shears are clipping my nose hairs off expertly. Anon, I shall have them all clipped. There now.

What are you fixing to do with your nose hairs now that they are all clipped, Crumby Ovate?

These particular nose hairs are fixing to save some subatomic aborigines from extinction, Twrch Trwyth. Once they get my nose hair shipment, they shall have nought to fear.

Hmmm. So you vend your nose hairs?

Yepper. Yet they are a bargain.

Crumby Ovate, did you know that many try to steal my hairs? Not just my nose hairs either, all my hairs. I must be constantly alert for hair rustlers.

I have indeed heard tell of that phenomena, Twrch Trwyth. Shame on those hair rustlers.

Well, it is annoying. Plus, I burn up lots of my food energy just protecting myself from hair rustlers.

That’s terrible Twrch Trwyth. A mighty pig such as yourself should not have to put up with that kind of shenanigan. You should get to enjoy your food, digest at a leisurely pace, then take a carefree nap, fret free from potential hair rustlers.

That’s what I surmise too, Crumby. Yet what can I do?

Hire me, Twrch Trwyth. I shall protect you from the hair rustlers.

Rayetta's New Lens - How Big is It?

My new lens is heavy, either 620g or 660g? I am not sure which. Maybe, one mass of those masses or the other. Probably the former, but maybe the latter. But how big is it?

Here it is, depicted via the magic of an electropictoid. That's it on the left. On the right, for scale, is my 40-150mm kit lens. Note that both are aroused, maximally, to their extreme FLs.

I shall be interested to espy how my new lens does on my tripod. Somebody around here may need to fix it up with a brace, ring, girdle, supporter or what not. We shall see about that. Maybe I shall have Crumby rig something up respective to his old Bush Hawk. We shall see about that.

Or maybe, hmmm. I have an idea.

Oops! This electropictoid inidcates that the 40-150mm is a couple of mm short of full FL arousal. Darn it!

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Day 340

Yesterday, Day 340, was latest frost day for the CB. Today, Day 341, also starts out, frosty. At least my calendar is working fairly well. The mornings should be frosty sometimes, during Polar Bear.

Yepper. The power of the Sun God and all his trainees is pulled back like a curtain to reveal nothing but hoar frost and stygian darkness outside. That’s why, during the Polar Bear or Polaris, a Sun God Trainee has no chance of prevailing against a dark and sinister force of nature like Crumby. But like Crumby keeps reminding me, annoyingly, seasons come, seasons go, Ray. Soon, Ogma shall be relatively more fired up. And me too. So fired up, I shall have to sweat over inner thigh chafing events.

All righty then. I gotta go werk, in what’s left of the sun.

Rayetta’s Lens Arrives

At last. The CB now has its very own Olympus 70-300mm telephoto/macro. I have succeeded as designated shopper. Just as I foretold. Rayetta shall be so happy, maybe. We shall see.

Rayetta. How do you feel?

Better Crumby. I am on the mend.

That’s wonderful Rayetta. Do you want to take some pictures?

Not really.

Yeah but, you may when you espy what just arrived.

Something just arrived. I need to take its picture.

No, no, no Rayetta, something has arrived that shall allow you to take a picture, closer and bigger, maybe.

Crumby! Have you succeeded as designated shopper? Did you order my lens already without telling me? Did you get a good deal?

Yepper. It cost 390 smackeroos, no tax, postage included. Plus, we get a 50 smackeroo rebate. Also, I have tested it negative for pirate bodily fluids and lead paint. Here it is. Surprise! You are good to go.

Why thank you Crumby. Too bad there are no butterflies about, and it is almost dark.

Try it anyway, Rayetta. Try it anyway. Put it on the camera.

OK. Goodness. Click. That sounded right. It is heavy. OK. I know. We shall take a picture of Ilex vomitoria. Then, I shall have a picture of Ilex vomitoria. The picture shall serve as a reminder. Avoid gustatory adventures with wild mushroom pasta, Rayetta. Come on Crumby. You tote the camera until we get to the Ilex vomitoria patch.

Long was the journey. Yet Crumby, by the Grace of the Goddess, made light of his burden.

Gimme my camera, Crumby. Ooooo! It is heavy. Now, for this picture, we shall shoot the bush from about 25 feet, fully zoomed out, utilizing Live Mode A for approximate focus. Also, since it is almost dark, and I am having a really hard time holding steady, possibly due to the recent food poisoning event, I shall pop up the flash, -3, the lowest emission setting.

Lucky for you Rayetta, you can rest the camera on your bosoms. Those bosoms should hold that camera steady.

Maybe Crumby. Whirr, click. Let’s go check it out.

Here we go, the first electropictoid with the new lens. JPG, no PP. This could prove, useful. We shall see. Yikes! What's all that hollering in the parlor? Go see, Crumby.

Crumby heads out for the parlor via a dusty hallway. Down the dusty hallway he goes. Yet as Crumby rounds the corner, he espies his bosom companion and a mop.

What's up with the mop, Ray?

I stepped on Lulu's water dish. Naturally, it flipped over and flung dog water all over me. The rest of the dog water is what the mop is up for. Great! You know Crumby, I have about had it.

Excuse me Ray. I need to go tell Rayetta what all the hollering was about.

Rayetta. Ray kicked over the dog water.

That's nice. Oh look Crumby. My new lens has a switch.

Ray's Rainfall Update - Day 339, DY 1

Don't stop, Ray. Don't stop.

Yes. I must stop. Some dark and sinister force is compelling me to check the all important rain gauge. I must stop, beautiful girlfriends.

Torn from the ample bosoms, dragged against my will, I cried piteously, Wait, can't I at least put my undears on?

The dark and sinister force relented, but just long enough for me to put my undears on, one leg at a time. Then I was hustled out, marched along through the frigid, stygian darkness, straight to the rain gauge. Please, dark and sinister force, it's dark and sinister out here, too dark to read the gauge.

Then an eerie light sprang up before me. Such an eerie light I have only encountered once before. I can't say where, maybe Homa, Louisiana. There that light was, hovering eerily about the gauge. Read the gauge Ray, a voice seemed to say. Find the miniscus, Ray.

Dang it! I'm fixing to read it.

What does it read, Ray. What does the miniscus indicate?

Er. 0.92".

All righty Ray. Now I shall hustle you along to the laboratory before you forget the enumeration, 0.92".

Hold it. Is that you Crumby?

Noper.

Sure it is. Dang it. I was fornicating, Crumby, fornicating. Now my beautiful girl friends lie abed, unfullfilled.

Yeah but, I thought you might need cheering up Ray. Reading the rain gauge always cheers a person up.

Man alive! Dang it!

Ray, do you remember what the miniscus read? I shall not release you until you repeat what the miniscus read. Actually, I shall not release you even then. No. I shall not release you until you have completed the rainfall update on the venue. Only then shall I set you free.

Whatever. 0.92".

Good Ray. Now head straight to the laboratory. It must be cold out there.

Ray marches straight to the laboratory.

Jeez Louise! OK. 47.76" + 0.92" = 48.86". There. Can I go now?

Praise the Goddess, Ray.

OK. 47.76" + 0.92" = 48.86". Praise be to the Merciful Goddess!

You may go.

Crumby and the Great Boar

Yepper. The dark and sinister ovate, me, is in good shape. Why, if I wanted to, I could perform three fifties of push ups, right now, eventually.

Perhaps you have heard of Twrch Trwryth, the fierce boar of Britain. The hairs off that particular pig are highly prized. Those hairs have the tensile strength of a #5 Samurai sword, yet are so delicate, the famous artist, Hineyho, uses them to paint gnats’ bottoms. Yepper, I have seen those paintings in the gallery down town. Those gnats’ bottoms are subatomic, yet the detail is meticulous, like detail should be.

The drawback to using Twrch Trwryth hairs for refined art is getting those hairs away from him. He does not like for people to pull his hairs off. A tousand or maybe two tousand famous artists plus some beginners have actually perished while attempting to pull hairs off that particular fierce, yet immortal, pig. No telling what those beginners could have accomplished, if Twrch Trwryth had spared their short, miserable lives.

Yepper. Twrch Trwryth is equipped with great tusks. The tops of those tusks are pearly white. The tips twinkle like stars. Big stars. Close stars. Yet the lower parts of those tusks, near the gums, are yellow. Those tusks measure a great many cubits in length. Then also, Twrch Trwryth is equipped with cloven hooves. Yes. Cloven hooves, we all know what that means. That means a full grown Druid Ovate, such as me, Crumby, could easily stand upright in the clove of one of Twrch Trwryth’s hooves, if I dared. Actually, I do dare. As soon as I get my camera fixed, I am fixing to take a picture of myself standing fully upright in the clove of one of Twrch Trwryth’s hooves. Probably, I shall want that to be the rear left clove. Then, once I am situated inside that canyon-like clove, I shall use the remote squirter to trigger the camera and take my picture.

Yet even so, I dasn’t try to sneak off with a hair or two fer trade. I have ovated over that. If I did that, Twrch Trwryth might sit on me, or even lay down on me and waller around. I have foreseen that possibility. Yikes! No, we don’t what that. That’s because Twrch Trwryth is four times as big as a double wide. He would squash me and never know the difference. Plus, his nasty old weenie might rub on me. Gadzooks and Mercy on Me.!

For those of you culturally deprived ignoramuses that have never espied a pig weenie, I shall now describe for you, the marvelous pig weenie of Twrch Trwryth. It is pink. Sheathed in its sheath, it is sheathed. Yet out in the open it is a marvel to behold. Long it is, yet slender and delicate. How long is it? No one knows. For even King Arthur was scared. Yes, scared out of his wits when his Druids suggested that he should personally measure Twrch Trwryth’s pig weenie. Ha! Those Cymric Druids have a great sense of humor, all righty then.

Many have drowned or smothered from encountering an emission from Twrch Trwryth’s weenie. Yet also, his droppings, are perilous. Yes, they are. One of Badgemagus’s, or maybe it was one of Ray’s cousins, I think it was Dillus the Bearded, maybe, was fooling around out in the front yard. All of a sudden he espied Twrch Trwryth headed his way at a dead run. Pigs can run mighty fast. So Dillus hopped into the house, pronto. But then, Twrch Trwryth took a dump, right in the doorway. Finally, Dillus’ great grand daughter, Ivy, many years later, managed to dig out. That’s how magnificent, yet perilous, one of Twrch Trwryth’s dumps, is. Three of Dillus’s generations perished, trapped in the house by that fourth most famous historical dump of all times. Yet, Ivy the Persistent, dug herself out. How about that! “Yer gonna need an ocean, of calumine lotion.”

So all those examples are just a few indications of how come Twrch Trwryth is perilous. Seek the hairs of Twrch Trwryth at yer own risk, artistes. But not me. I, Crumby Ovate, have resolved upon mine own nose as an adequate substitute. Yes. I shall pluck forth or clip off mine own nose hairs as a substitute for Twrch Trwryth’s hairs . My nose hairs are less perilous. Yet, they are hard, hard to cut. I must seek out shears. Yes, proper, perhaps even magical shears, for to clip off the nose hairs of a dark and sinister ovate, me.

Hold it! My depressed and miserable Sun God Trainee bosom companion is forlorn. Check the gauge, Ray. Check the gauge.

Ray’s Round Table #8 - Food, Your Loss is Our Gain

All righty. Today we are fixing to have a round table parley similar to those on Sunday morning TV. In the best tradition of Media Liberal TV, and Media Conservative TV, all my guests, plus me, have incestuous relationships. Today I have my usual guests back. These usual guests are; Ms. Hope Remains, Ace Reporter, Druid News Service; Dr. Rayetta Pistrum, the Lovely Druidess Rayetta; and my bosom companion, Mr. Crumby Ovate.

Today’s topic, Food, Your Loss is Our Gain, is inspired by the recent secular holiday, Thanksgiving. Some may argue that Thanksgiving is an exclusively Mammonite holiday. But those Mammonites are possibly forgetting that Indians were invited to the first feast. That is because the Indians had most of the food, and the Mammonites wanted to share the Indians’ food.

Actually, the Mammonites wanted all the Indians’ food, but it took them awhile to figure out how to acquire all the Indians’ food. That came after the first feast. Anyway, because Indians got to participate in the first Thanksgiving, and those Indians were heathen pagans, just like Druids, Druids feel like Thanksgiving is a secular holiday, so we participate. Also, those Druids that work, get off.

Ms. Remains, in your capacity as Ace Reporter for the DNS, and time traveler, have you found the time to actually interview any of the participants at that first feast.

Why my goodness! Hello everyone. It’s me, Hope. Let me just stand up. Yes. I shall stand up and twirl about so that all the home viewers may espy my buckskin miniskirt and matching tiny vest. Don’t you surmise this is the cutest buckskin miniskirt and tiny vest ever, Rayetta?

Hmmm. Burp. You are pretty cute, all righty then. Burp.

Well! First thing I did was go shopping. I wanted an outfit for the feast that would let me blend in. Lomo, pan the camera down to my feet. See these nifty open toe, platform moccasins. Aren’t they precious. Goodness gracious, I had such a nice time at that feast. Everyone was so sweet.

Sit yourself down young lady. Stop that preening. Burp.

Well! I just wanted the home audience to espy how I looked at the feast, Rayetta.

Yeah, well they have espied plenty. So sit down and cross your legs for Goddess Sakes. Burp.

Well! Aren’t we grumpy today. OK. So then we are all having this swell feast. One of the sweet Mammonite boys brought me a big steaming bowl of corn mush with little fish in it. Or maybe, it was acorn mush. Yuck! I had a tiny taste just to be polite. Yuck! But everyone else dug in. All the Mammonites, dug in because they were starving, and our co-religionists, because they were use to the stuff.

Oh! First we prayed over the mush. That was very interesting. The Indians prayed, Food, Your Loss is Our Gain, just like Druids. But the Mammonites blamed, I mean thanked, God; not the Indians or the food, God.

I did some actual interviews too. Want me to spell everyone about those?

Er. Maybe not, Hope. We are running short of time. Plus, I espy that my sister is looking peeked around the eyes.

Well! If Miss Grumpy wants her turn, that’s OK by me.

Praise be to the Goddess! Hold it. Excuse me, Ms. Remains performance has loosened me up.

Uh. All righty then. My sister, Rayetta, the Lovely Druidess, looking peeked, has had to head to the Ladies’ Comfort Station. That leaves Crumby. Crumby, what’s your opinion, on, Food, Your Loss is Our Gain.

As you know Ray, I have long cultivated ties with the various Kingdoms, especially Plantae. Part and parcel of that cultivation led me to communicate with the various plants, especially those sweet potatoes that some call yams. Much I have gained from communication with the yams. Therefore, I am part yam. You might even spell, I yam what I yam. Huh-huh.

Yet, the important thing to remember, home audience, is, Food has a life of its own. You need to properly thank the food for having a life of its own. And especially, you don’t want to guzzle it all up unnecessarily. Eventually, if you keep guzzling it all up, with never a by your leave, there shall be no gain, anywhere, ever.

Uh. I wonder if Rayetta needs her bucket? I better go make sure Rayetta has her bucket. Hope, you may need to take Rayetta her bucket.

Well I swan! Now me, Hope, is a bucket bearer.

Mercy! All righty then. That’s it for Ray’s Round Table, post Thanksgiving Day Special, Food, Your Loss is Our Gain. Be sure to check in next week. The Round Table may try to figure out what St. Andrew did to deserve a holiday. And if what he did was so hot, how come we don’t get off work.

Watch out for the Wicker Man!!!!

Back from Shopping

I was correct. The cinnamon bun vendor stayed home. Boy howdy, I sure am suffering a lot lately. It is like I have been burdened with all the woes lifted off my bosom companion, Crumby. First, I am kidnapped, cruelly bound and fettered. Then I get to listen to a boring discussion for days on end. Now, no delicious cinnamon bun. If it aint one thing, it's two. Course, it could be worse. I could be living on Immodium and Ginger Ale like my sister.

Only the green leafy vegetable vendors showed up today. Those green leafy vegetable vendors are the most round chested of all the vendors. They showed up, in the rain and cold, so I purchased a nice mess of collards. Those collards are delicious.

Crumby, my bosom buddy, what brings you hence to the venue?

Ray, bosom buddy, upon reflection, I have noticed that our new song could also be sung to the tune of the Gilligan's Island theme song. Do you surmise Gilligan may have ripped off the Ghost Riders?

Whoa! Hold it. Let me sing along for the nonce. Bitty-beep-beep, bitty-beep-boop is the same difference as, A three hour tour, a three hour tour, and Yippee-yi-yay, yippee-yi-yo. Is there nothing new under the sun, Crumby?

Not lately Ray. We have virtually shot our proverbial wad. Can I say that on the venue, Ray?

No.

Yeah but, guess what?

What?

Kai's head brought in 444 smackeroos at auction. King Arthur ransomed it, outbidding three high toned biological supply houses. That means I can get my once trusty camera fixed and have some money left over for treats. I am rich, rich beyond my wildest dreams.

Course King Arthur also promised me some pay back for snicker snacking Kai's stupid but valuable head. However, I have already ovated about that. It's not a problem.

That's swell Crumby. Uh, Crumby, how come you are having all this good fortune? Isn't this your season of abject misery? What's going on? Why aren't you suffering miserably like you are supposed to suffer, miserably?

The Goddess is with me, Ray. I am not sure why. Seems like I am just as bad as ever, yet Her Forebearance is Admirable, from my perspective. I am fixing to enjoy the situation while it lasts. That reminds me. Not only is the WG, Sweet and Kind, She is Polite, Courteous and Ravishingly Beautiful Beyond the Mere Comprehension of Mere Mortals like me. She is also Infinitely Clever and Funny. So funny that I laugh so hard, I then wet my green Brownie pants. Not that I understand all the jokes immediately. Sometimes I get those jokes days later and then wet my pants.

Crumby, it sounds to me like you are enjoying a Grace Phase.

That's right Ray. Aptly put. I am enjoying the Grace of the Goddess. But for how long? How long? I shall not worry about that. Live for today, Ray, live for today. Take it one step at a time. One step at a time, Ray.

All righty then. That's good advice for those enjoying the Grace of the Goddess. But what about me? Look what has happened to me, lately. Dang it.

Seasons come, seasons go, Ray.

Dang it. OK Crumby. You are off the venue until tomorrow. I simply can not, in my condition, endure another platitude.

All righty then, Ray. But, seasons come, seasons go.

Dang it. You are fixing to get it now, Crumby.

No I'm not. The Goddess is totally with me, and against you, Ray. I have foreseen it.

Dang it!!!!

Ray's Thought for the Day - Pick it on Up, Baby!

Crumby and me decided to write a song dedicated to two of mankind’s greatest inventions, Sun God worship, and cell phones. Now I am off to procure my delicious cinnamon bun, maybe. Maybe, because the weather outside may have convinced the cinnamon bun vendor to stay home.

Hold it! Here's an important public health message from the Lovely Druidess Rayetta.

For those we both know and like, Stear clear of the wild mushroom pasta at Magnolia Cafe if you know what's good for you!!!!

_____

That He Man in the Sky (Sung to the tune of: Ghost Riders in the Sky)

He’s got a beard and a terry cloth robe and he sits on a golden throne
And he keeps to himself in outer space at a location that’s unknown
Yet once in awhile or a great long while, he’ll feel like he’s all alone
So he calls up a Sun God Trainee, on his cellular telephone

Bitty-beep-beep, bitty-beep-boop,

That he man in the sky.

He sits all alone for a very long time then decides to make a call
But since it has been such a very long time since he made that last call
He’s forgot what he said to the last trainee, when he made that previous call
So the new trainee gets a gospel, unfamiliar to us all.

Bitty-beep-beep, bitty-beep-boop,

That he man in the sky.

Then once in while or a very short while, he puts in a bunch of calls
There’s Sun God trainees everywhere, receiving all those calls
There’s Calvin and there’s Wesley, then there’s Young Brigham too
They’ve all received a call from him, he’s told them what to do

Bitty-beep-beep, bitty-beep-boop,

That he man in the sky.

Then once in while or a very short while, he puts in plenty of calls
There’s many trainee multitudes, receiving all those calls
Every Sun God Trainee everywhere, gets a gospel all his own
Recorded on the message pad, of his cellular telephone

Bitty-beep-beep, bitty-beep-boop,

That he man in the sky.

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Back on the Venue

Crumby has saved me from destiny, temporarily. Yet destiny awaits me, around the corner, under the overpass, over at the shopping mall. Yep. Wherever? Destiny is still out there, waiting.

Here’s what happened. Culwuch tricked me into running off after him. I would have caught him easily. Yet I didn’t. That’s because, instead of proper shoes, I was shod with rubber clogs. Those rubber clogs are handy for certain types of mud, but useless for wind sprints. So no matter how fast I ran, Culwuch stayed out of reach, constantly taunting me. Come on Ray. Cain’t ye catch me. Yer a sissy. Only sissies wear clogs. And so forth.

I admit it, the taunting agitated me. So I kicked off my clogs, resolving to run Culwuch down, barefoot. Pretty soon though, on the north Hwy 290 backslope, I hit a patch of stickers. Then, while I was hunkered down, attempting to extract all the stickers, Culwuch, and his size-ephemeral cousin, Kai, jumped me. Long, we all wrestled around on the backslope. But with stickers in my feet I couldn’t kick the bejesus out of those twain, once I had them down. So I was handicapped.

Eventually, after we wrestled around some more, those twain overcame me, through treachery and cheating. That’s right. They didn’t fight fair. Pretty soon I was cruelly gagged and fettered. Then they drug me over to the nearby flood water detention structure, intending to drown me. Those dumbasses thought there would be water in a flood water detention structure.

Then Kai says, all righty, we shall just have to wait until it rains, so Ray here can enjoy a proper triple death. But that asshole Culwuch says, No, let’s skip the drowning and proceed to draw, Ray. Then, we can quarter him. But Kai says, No, that sequence does not follow the proper rules for Sun God Trainees. Then that asshole Culwuch says, So what. It’s cold out here with this dry norther blowing. Let’s just quarter Ray and go home. No. That won’t work either. You have to follow the proper rules, Culwuch. Don’t you know, anything.

Back and forth the discussion went for hours and hours. Night turned to day. Day turned to night. On went the discussion. I was getting pretty bored. Just do, something, I thought. But then, I reconsidered.

Thunk!

What was that? That thunk has verily shut the trap of that asshole Culwuch. Of a sudden, the cruel north wind carried another voice unto my questing, weary ears. Crumby! Crumby has arrived to save me from destiny. Good!

Luckily for Crumby, Rayetta has taken all the ladies shopping for the day. Otherwise, she might find Kai’s head in the shed before the auction starts. I am not sure what Rayetta would do about that head if she found it. She might be OK with it. But like Crumby says, There’s no point taking chances.

Hold it. Here’s my bosom companion now.

Let’s eat oatmeal, Ray. I’m hungry.

All righty then. Just let me post this one eletropictoid. It’s me in my treacherous clogs. Those clogs may make history as the fourth most treacherous clogs, ever.

Crumby Checks Up on His Head

Yes. Here I am, the dark and sinister Crumby. Early, I rise, wresting myself from the cloying embrace of the Ample Bosoms. I need to check up on my head. Those dern rats could be at it. Come on Lulu. We need to go check up on my valuable head.

Out into the frigid, stygian darkness we roared, the twain of us, both the dark and sinister Ovate plus his trusty companion. Long was our journey. Everywhere, on that long and terrible journey I detected ovational hints. Miserable, desicate, vermin gnawed leaves, hung from wand like stems of various subshrubs casting scary shadows thanks to my Froggy-Went-A Courtin’ Head Lamp. Yet eventually, despite the scary leaf shadows that would have unnerved many, we arrived at the shed. Get em Lulu. Get those dern rats. There they go.

While Lulu massacres those rats I shall hop up on my valuable head. Have a seat Crumby. Why thank you Kai.

Ah. That takes a load off. Now that I espy that my head is safe, perhaps I shall reflect upon current events in these parts. What’s that Kai? What’s that you are mumbling, valuable noggin?

I said, lucky for you, the season.

How’s that, noggin?

Easy that, the Polaris or Polar Bear Solstice approaches. The power of the Sun God wanes. I was weak, weak and feeble as a result. Any other time, I would have had your head in a sack, Ovate.

Alas, too true. Yes, my noggin might now be in your sack, chattering away, if this day was Beelzebubberriffic Solstice. But, ha! It aint Beelzebubberriffic Solstice, not by a long shot. You Sun God Trainees surmise you are so smart. Yet you ignore all the signs that are easy to espy. You should have stayed home Kai, sucking at an Ample Bosom like a titty baby.

Well at least I bested Ray.

No you didn’t. Ray’s fine. He’s tucked in with his two beautiful girl friends at this very nonce. Plus your dopey cousin got to play badger in a bag. That was lots of fun.

Boo-hoo-hoo. What shall become of me, Ovate?

Well actually, there is quite of bit of interest in you. Three biological supply vendors are sending representatives to look you over this afternoon. Plus your kin, King Arthur, may ransom you. That’s pretty cool. Then too, King Arthur may wish to ransom that asshole Culwuch as well. I may soon be rich, rich beyond my wildest dreams! Now pipe down. I need to think out loud.

Good doggie. Good girl. That’s right, pile those rats up where I am less likely to step on them.

Er. Seems like the local Sun God goose steppers are het up on interfaith. Boy howdy, if there was ever a knucklehead notion, interfaith is it. Pray to the sky, Sunday, cluster bomb, Monday.

In fact, how the heck did sky pilot worship ever come to be in the first place? That knucklehead notion, for the nonce, escapes me entirely. I shall have to think out loud on that topic.

OK. Here I am. Crumby, primitive cave person. Everything I need is right here. If it is not right here, and I need it, like for example sunshine and rain, right here attracts those items like a magnet. So I ought to be happy. But I’m not. No, I need to ignore all this, and focus on outer space. No, not what I can see out there in outer space. No, I need to imagine a He Man out there in outer space that is actually, unknowable. Swell. That makes me lots happier, and smarter too.

Jeez Louise!

Crumby Rescues Ray

Kai! Evil doer! Over here! Rouse yerself 20 cubits in every direction. It is I, the Crumby Ovate, come to rile you up.

Who?

I am Crumby, Junior Ovate, Druid of great repute. Plus I am Ray’s bosom companion. Since you are a retarded dumbass you probably thought I still had a bad leg. Watch this.

Lleu Llaw, while Kai is watching me, sneak over there and stick Culwuch in the gunny sack.

Ha! Do you espy me, Kai? Here I am. This dance is called the box step. Only an ovate with a fully functional leg may perform this dance.

So what?

Uh. This very dance seduced all the ladies in your family. Then I enjoyed sexual intercourse with all those ladies.

No you didn’t.

Sure I did.

No you didn’t. Yet I find myself unaccountably riled up. So I shall enjoy crushing you like a bug.

Then do it Kai. But first make sure you are expanded twenty cubits in every direction.

Furiously, Kai expands himself to the full 20 cubits in every direction, the full limit of his powers. Meantime, Crumby, box steps into position.

There now. I am in position. Are you fully expanded, Kai? Your noggin sure looks valuable, I mean stupid.

Grrrrrrrr! Kai reaches out 20 cubits in every direction. Yet the elusive ovate, box stepping deftly, has Kai the Stupid lined up perfectly. Take that, hollers Crumby, jabbing Kai in the nuts with his trusty juniper staff. How do you like that?, hollers the ovate, excitedly. Then, lo and behold, Kai is discomfitted. Discomfitted, Kai does a back step. Yet in the path of that back step comes along in the nick of time, Lleu Llaw Guffes, Lion of the Steady Hand, dragging Culwuch the Asshole along in a gunny sack so that Kai the Retard does back step upon the gunny sack containing his asshole cousin. Then Kai of the Largest and Most Valuable Head Ever, does topple over his bagged cousin. Falling hard, on account of his big size, Kai conks himself out on the concrete floor of the flood water detention structure, just like Crumby ovated.

Swiftly and lightly Crumby springs upon the hapless yet ephemeral giant. I got to get his head off before it shrinks. Lucky fer me, the Goddess sent me this pocket knife for just such an occasion. With a few deft strokes, Kai’s noggin is totally cut off from the rest of him.

There now. Lleu Llaw, go get the pick up. I shall stay here with my valuable head and the gunny sack. Drive up as close to this flood water detention structure as you can get. This head is pretty heavy so we don’t want to tote it too far. I sure hope it fits in the bed. We may need to tie it down.

Master Crumby, where shall we unload this prodigious head once we get it home? Plus, do you surmise the Lovely Druidess shall let you keep it?

Whoa! Dern it. I forgot to ovate that far ahead.

Then too Master, your bosom companion, Ray, lies yonder, cruelly gagged and fettered.

Ray? Oh yeah. Hold it, Lleu Llaw. I need to ovate for a minute.

A minute passes.

OK, Lleu Llaw. When we get my valuable head, the gunny sack and Ray back to the CB, what you shall do is present Ray to the Lovely Druidess. That may distract Rayetta for a minute. Then, while Rayetta is distracted with Ray, send Lomo and Raymone out to where I shall be guarding the pick up in the driveway. Er. Never mind Raymone. Just send Lomo. Then go back inside to make sure Rayetta is still distracted with Ray.

Oh! Make sure Ray’s girl friends know he’s back too. All those ladies fussing over Ray, should give me and Lomo enough time to tote the head back to the shed. It ought to fit in the shed. OK. Hold it. If Rayetta starts losing interest in Ray, before Lomo and me get the head off loaded and on its way to the shed, tote in the gunny sack. Then holler out, Look everyone, let’s play badger in the bag! Do you understand all that, Lleu Llaw?

Yes Master.

Anon, all that Crumby ovated came to pass. Then Crumby, espying that his head was safely ensconced in the shed, was filled with gratitude. Assuming the traditional ovation posture of the Druid Ovate, Crumby calls upon the WG. Merciful and Most Beautiful WG, I have much to be thankful for. Despite all my whining, Your Lovely Self has spared me so far. Then, You, Merciful and Ethereal Goddess, In Your Infinite Wisdom, sent one of my many lost pocket knives back to me just in the nick of time. Then, Your Rapturous Person cleverly delivered unto me this spectacular head which may be worth upwards of a hundred dollars. So I am especially thankful for all that. Now, please, please don’t let Rayetta find my head before the biological supply personnel pick it up tomorrow afternoon. OK?

Rayetta's Butterflies - The Cow Barn Butterfly Documentation System Approximate Total for Approximately One Year

Let's see. I developed the CB BDS at about this same time last year. So, the year is up. That means the CB BDS finishes the year with 70 species of butterflies documented at the CB. The total may be more. But so far, the identities of some of those documented remain elusive.

The next CB BDS period shall commence and end on the Polar Bear Solstice, DY 2. Because, when a documentation period coincides precisely with one official year, everything is much easier to keep track of.

Anyway the first CB BDS period coincides roughly to DY 1 plus about 20 days before Druids started keeping track of time again. From now on though, anything we document shall be associated with one year, and one year only. That also means I shall not document anything else until Polar Bear Solstice. Unless of course, something really interesting comes along between now and then.

On other fronts, first Ray, now Crumby, have gone off into the wilderness, Ray to meet up with his destiny, Crumby to, hmmm. Oh yes, Crumby, to help Ray.

Odd that. Crumby never helps anyone willingly. Plus, he never leaves the relatively safe confines of the CB willingly either. I bet that Crumby has an ulterior motive for going off into the wilderness to help Ray.

Another dry norther roared in this afternoon. Dry northers are good for nothing. Anyone for green bean casserole?

Crumby's Thought for the Day - Where's My Bosom Companion

I sure want Ray to turn up. Dern it. Where's he got off to? Hold it. I need to ovate for a minute.

A minute passes.

There he is. I must go help Ray. Only I can save him from the cruel devices of his many enemies. Here I go.

Where are you going, Crumby?

Er. I am headed out to help Ray. He is about to undergo the triple death unless I arrive in the nick of time, Rayetta.

OK Crumby. You can go help Ray. But first you have to get the trash can in. Then you may go. But Crumby, are you sure you want to go? Ray is meeting his destiny. Do you really want to interrupt Ray's destiny?

Yepper, I do Rayetta. Ray's immediate destiny looks bleak. Yet I, Crumby, have foreseen that I could improve his destiny.

All righty then Crumby. Head on out. But bring in the trash can first.

Dern trashcan. I had to put it out this morning too. And due to the extremist recycling conditions foisted on me by this bunch, there was hardly any trash. Now where's Ray? I need to get a GPS fix on him calibrated to my last ovation. There he is. That's just across Hwy 290 in the GCW habitat. That's handy.

Lleu Llaw, you shall accompany me. We are fixing to rescue Ray. He is about to be drowned, drawn, then quartered. After that the evil doers are fixing to cut off his head and mail it to the CB, bulk rate. Unless I rescue him. Let's go. You drive while I ovate and operate the GPS unit simultaneously. Back out then go north. Now go east. Now go north. Now go east. Now go north. Now go west. Now go north. Find a place to park, Lleu Llaw.

All righty then Lleu Llaw, Ray is held captive over there in that floodwater detention structure. We need to sneak up. Once we sneak up, you shall need to knock that asshole Culwuch unconcious. Here. Take this gunny sack. After you knock Culwuch out, see if he will fit in this gunny sack. Then once he's in the gunny sack we shall tote him back to the CB and play badger in a bag. Meantime, I shall deal with Kai. What I am fixing to do is cut off Kai's head with my Swiss Army Knife. That's because a certain biological supply house wants a giant head real bad. If I get Kai's head off, that biological supply house shall pay magnificently, for Kai's head, sufficient to cover the cost of getting the C 5060 WZ fixed. Let's go. Remember to sneak up.

Ha! There those evil doers are. They are fixing to drown Ray. But just like I ovated, there's no water in the floodwater detention structure. Those dumbasses thought there would be water. Dumbasses. They must be retarded. OK Lleu LLaw. Knock Culwuch unconcious.

How master?

With this rock. Chuck this rock with yer steady hand.

Thunk!

Crumby's Thought for the Day - Our Brave Allies Whip Ladies

Long ago, the Goddess washed her hands of those parts. She shall never return, until those parts are cleaned up. When will that be? Maybe, when the oil runs out. But more likely, by then it shall be too late. More likely, never.

Here's how that all worked out. Long ago the Goddess espied that all the little Sun Gods running around in those parts were crazy. All righty then, since you are all crazy, I shall stop the rain. We shall see how you like that. Then the Goddess forgot all about those parts. Because they were not very interesting after the rain stopped.

Eventually, all the crazy little Sun Gods in those parts, may have gone to heaven, or somewhere. Huh-huh. Yet, their goose steppers persisted in those parts, under the supervision of various imperialisms. Eventually, the imperialists discovered lots of oil left over from when it used to rain. Ha! Surmised the imperialists and all the locals, all this oil shall make us rich. Rich beyond our wildest dreams!

Then everyone squabbled over the oil. Meantime, minus the Goddess, some of the locals decided to make slaves out of all the ladies. The justification for making slaves out of the ladies was the purported behavior of Jezebel.

These ladies all have the potential to behave like Jezebel. So we shall enslave all these ladies to keep them from all acting like Jezebel.

So that's what the locals did, enslave the ladies. To this very day, even those in those parts that are our brave allies, whip the ladies, publicly, for sport. They do that whipping of the ladies, publicly, with the full support and backing of our ignoramus Kinglet.

Now if our ignoramus Kinglet was a real man, he would send in somebody else to rescue the lady that is fixing to get whipped. Then, he would have some of his other minions cluster bomb the bejesus out of the Arabian Peninsula. If he did that, I would consider it a good expenditure of my tax dollars. Especially if the royal family got clustered bombed. Probably though, the royal family would all be having tea at Kennebunkport, escape the cluster bombing, and then recieve a bunch of my tax dollars to rebuild whatever got cluster bombed, plus, ten times more for the inconvenience they suffered.

Crumby's Thought for the Day - I am in Charge, while Ray is Away

Dern it. Who put the previous up on the venue that I had to delete? I'm in charge, while Ray's away. So I am on the look out for unauthorized opinions on the venue, like the previous. I shall soon detect the author of that scurrilous attack on man's best friend. Then we shall see.

My bosom companion, Ray, tore out of here last night. Anon, we may get to play badger in a bag with Culwuch. But maybe not. What if Culwuch bushwhacked Ray? What if Culwuch brought along his terrible cousin, Kai, and the both of them bushwhacked Ray? What if they have Ray's head, already? What if Ray's head is in the mail, headed to the CB at this very nonce? Or more likely, Ray's head is boxed up residing temporarily in a postal warehouse. Alas, my poor bosom companion? Alas, for his beautiful, bereaved girlfriends and sister. Alas, alas, alas.

The really horrible part is, if Ray's head arrives at the CB in a box, I, Crumby, shall be honor bound to avenge my bosom companion. Plus, Ray's head could easily talk to me.

Crumby, my bosom companion, you must avenge me. Here's what you must do. Catch that asshole Culwuch. Then put him in a bag. Then cudgel the bejesus out of him. But before you do that, you shall have to deal with Kai. Beware Crumby! Kai is a Sun God Trainee. That means he has powers. For instance, when he gets riled up, he grows 20 cubits in every direction.

Whoa! I need to ovate on that possibility. Hold it.

Time passes.

OK. I'm done. Not a problem.

I do have a problem though. My only camera, the C 5060 WZ is still broke, like me. I yearn for my camera to be fixed. That way, fixed, all its attachments shall seem less useless. How, how, how? I shall ovate. Wait a minute.

Time passes.

OK. I'm done. Not a problem.

Ray’s Round Table #7 - King Arthur Actually Plugs His New Book

Here I am, Ray Pistrum, Sun God Trainee, again, one on one with King Arthur, King of the Britons. King Arthur, this time I have personally filled up your Oxygen bottle. You should not run out, ever. So take your time and as many drags as you feel like you need. Now before we get to your new book, I have just one more question that’s killing me. Which would you rather have in your lap at this nonce, Gwenhwyfar or Cerrridwen’s Cauldron that some call the Holy Grail?

Easy that Ray, Gwenhwyfar. No hold it. First I would have the Cauldron just for one dip. Then, I would have Gwenhwyfar for keeps. I should not make the same mistake, twice.

Yep. That makes a lot of sense King Arthur. But if you had only one shot, at one or the other, which would you choose?

I would sit it out, Ray. Let the Goddess decide.

Spoken like a Druid, King Arthur. That’s what Red ovated you would say. Hey. You don’t need the Oxygen bottle?

Noper Ray. I must have adapted somewhat to the various fumes in these parts. Except your sister. Does the Lovely Druidess always emit the aroma of violets?

Yepper. That particular aroma is industrial strength violets provided by Nancy, Goddess of Practical Jokes from the Joke Factory. It’s one of Rayetta’s spells, creating confusion and uncertainty among all who whiff it. Anyone who gets a whiff, is easy for Rayetta to boss around. Even me and Crumby. Although, due to long exposure, the twain of us are more immune than most, maybe. Uh. What about that new book of yours King Arthur? We need to get that rascal climbing the list. Tell us about it.

Well Ray, my new book, tome really, Kin Selection among the Ancient British, is an exciting recounting of all those of my kin who made great personal sacrifices to insure the survival of my kin, generally. Without those sacrifices, even I, King Arthur, might have never existed. Might nothing. I, King Arthur, would have never existed. One example. My great uncle, many times removed, Hu ap Roger had a beautiful sister. Hu wanted to keep his sister for himself. But instead, Hu agreed, for the good of the whole family, to trade his sister to my great grandfather, several times removed, who happened to be Hu’s younger brother. But then Hu was captured by wild Turnip Giants while trying to sneak his sister, my great granny, several times removed, across the county line. The Turnip giants ate Hu. Yet Hu, before he got put in the stew, rolled around in the mistletoe berries. So when the Turnip Giants ate the stew, they all got poisoned to death. The demise of Uncle Hu enumerates as the Fourth Greatest Kin Sacrifice by my kinfolk, eventually allowing me, King Arthur, to arrive on the scene.

What happened to your beautiful great granny, several times removed? Did she get et by the Turnip Giants too, or worse?

You shall have to read my book, Ray. But I’ll give you a hint. Have you ever heard of Merffhwyn?

Uh. Maybe! He’s the famous conjurer. Right?

Correct. Well in those days, Merffhwyn was on the carnival circuit in Devon. Merffhwyn, just like me, fell into the young blonde pitfall. So pretty soon my beautiful great granny, several times removed, may have found herself a job, dancing hoochy-cooch in the carnival. But Ray, ye shall have to read my book, to find out all that, fer sure.

Uh. What were the first three greatest kin sacrifices?

Read my book, Ray.

Dang it. All righty then, King Arthur, I shall most likely read your book. It sounds very interesting. Home audience, you should certainly purchase King Arthur’s new book, Kin Selection among the Ancient British. It has lots of pictures. Plus it’s heavy. It’s so heavy, you may want to put it down. But it's so interesting, you won’t want to put it down. So buy King Arthur’s new book, Kin Selection among the Ancient British.

Well King Arthur, are you fixing to head back to Annwn, anon.

That’s right Ray. The Goddess is calling me back to duty in Annwn, anon. Yet I may come again. Let the Goddess decide.

Yepper. Me too. Let the Goddess Decide. Well Home Audience, that’s it for Ray’s Round Table this week. Tune in next week for our Post Thanksgiving Special, Food, Your Loss is Our Gain.

Watch out for the Wicker Man!!!!

Hold it! King Arthur. Lemme see that Oxygen bottle.

Here you go Ray.

Dang it. Uh. OK. Thanks King Arthur. Thanks for everything.

Ray! King Arthur’s taxi is here.

Bye Ray.

Bye King Arthur.

Yay! Everyone assemble to say bye to King Arthur. Lomo! Get King Arthur’s bags. Come again King Arthur. A welcome before you King Arthur. Harooooooooooooooo!!!!

Thus, King Arthur departed from the CB.

Uh. Now that we are all out here in the driveway, I would like to know who switched King Arthur’s Oxygen bottle with the Helium bottle. By the way, that little trick back fired. King Arthur didn’t need any Oxygen. That’s good. Cause he would have got Helium, not Oxygen. Isn’t that right, Crumby?

I am mortified! Mortified and shocked simultaneously Ray, that you should suspect me, your bosom companion. I am entirely innocent, much like a lamb. My fleece is white as the snow that piles up before anybody plays in it. My twain eyes are like small aquariums. Look me in the eyes Ray. You may see all the little guppies.

Well, who did this dastardly deed then?

Ha! It was I, Culwuch that switched the bottles. I failed this time, but I’ll get even Ray Pistrum. Just wait and see, I’ll get even.

There he is. There’s that asshole Culwuch. Get ‘em.

Into the stygian darkness sped Ray, in hot pursuit of his arch enemy the dastardly asshole, Culwuch. Crumby, fervently desired to follow hard upon Ray’s heels. Yet Crumby stayed himself, considering the too recent mystical rehabilitation of his bad knee. Yet Lomo, Lleu Llaw, and Raymone, maybe, would have followed Ray. But Rayetta, spake up, Nay boys, let him go. It is Ray’s destiny. Do not weep, Ray’s twain beautiful girl friends. Let’s go shopping. You too Lometa.

Then all the ladies went shopping.

Where ere the ladies got off to, Crumby?

Shopping Red. They have gone, shopping.

Dang it. The Ladies’ Comfort Station needs a new flapper. All righty then, Crumby. Let’s ovate together fer a minute to espy into the future. Shall the ladies pick up a new flapper?

Time passes.

Noper. Noper.

Ray's Round Table # 7 - King Arthur Plugs His New Book

Ray's Round Table shall not come on at the scheduled time. It shall be broadcast later, maybe. That's because my twain beautiful girlfriends sprang a social event on me unawares. So I don't have time for the interview with King Arthur until later. All righty then. Gotta go. Crumby, take over.

Good Goddess! Now tree crickets are attacking me. Did you know that tree crickets are green? Otherwise, they look like roaches. They act like roaches too. Just now I had to unplug the calico cat and two kittens night light so I could plug in the vaccum cleaner. Soon as I unplugged it, a tree cricket jumped me and ran up my arm. Then, when I took that dern tree cricket outside, to let it loose, as soon as it hit the ground it ran up my green Brownie pants leg. Now, having met up with tree crickets, I know exactly why cock roaches are included in the Order Orthoptera.

I have to participate in the dern social event too. But even before that happens, I have to vacuum out the parlor. Au reservoir.

Hold it! Doing a favor for a true vermin, like a tree cricket, is optional.

Rayetta's Butterflies - Electropictoiding Tiny Landscapes

Suppose you, a concerned land owner and responsible party, wish to know what the tiny illegals are up to on your property. That's right. Those trespassers are out there, day and night. Are they up to no good? You don't know.

Are you curious, not just opinionated? If you are just opinionated, then your best option for dealing with the tiny illegals is a good generic nerve gas. If properly applied, that should take care of them.

However, if you are curious, then you may be interested in the Lovely Druidess Rayetta's methodology for Electropictoiding Tiny Landscapes. Electropictoiding Tiny Landscapes has twain mutually inclusive goals. Goal one: a tiny illegal subject is identifiable and located more or less in the center of the electropictoid. Goal twain: A sizable chunk of the tiny illegal's habitat is identifiable around and about the tiny illegal. That does it. Once you have an Electropictoid Tiny Landscape, you may infer from the Electropictoid Tiny Landscape documentation what that tiny illegal trespasser is up to.

For Electropictoiding Tiny Landscapes at the CB, I rely on the discontinued Olympus 40-150mm kit lens. This lens lacks macro capabilities, plus, the person taking the electropictoid, me, needs to be at least two yards from the illegal trespasser subject. If I get any closer, the lens won't focus. However, at fl 150mm, this lens often captures an identifiable image of the trespassing tiny perpetrator, plus a sizable chunk of the landscape that tiny trespasser is exploiting.

Here's an example Electropictoid Tiny Landscape. The tiny illegal trespasser is a common mestra. The landscape is mostly Aster subulatus.

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Petey and the Bulldog

Many moons ago I was werkin in the sun, just like now. That’s when I heard the proverb of the bulldog and the monkey. Seems like one of my fellow werkers had a pal who kept a bulldog and a little monkey for company. At night, the bulldog and the monkey stayed in the house. But during the day, those twain had to go out in the backyard.

Out in the backyard, the bulldog and the little monkey, were leashed up to a clothesline. That way, both those twain could galavant along, up and down the length of the clothesline, yet be constrained by the leashes. The bulldog galavanted along the ground. The monkey ran the wires.

One day, after frisking along for awhile, to and fro, back and forth, the bulldog, worn out by all the exercise, decided to take a little nap. So the bulldog lay down for a nap and was soon sound asleep, snoring contentedly, ensconced on a nice sunny spot, dreaming bulldog dreams, supine on the Bosom of the Goddess. The monkey though was wide awake, alert. There that monkey sat on the clothesline T pole, scratching his nasty little cheeks, all four. Once he had scratched all his cheeks real good, the monkey, who answered to the name, Petey, thought:

It’s not fair. Here I am, stuck out here on the clothesline with naught but a bulldog for company. And that particular bulldog is asleep. I may need to wake that bull dog up.

Stealthily Petey crept along a clothesline wire until he was just about vertical to the inert bulldog. Then, of a sudden, Petey jumped. Assisted by the mysterious force of gravity, Petey soon landed upon the inert bulldog. Then, wrapping all four of his nasty little arms and arm like legs around the bulldog, Petey determined to hang on for dear life.

Well now. Consider the bulldog’s situation. The worst thing anyone can imagine in their wildest nightmares has just afflicted that bulldog, from the perspective of that bulldog. Can you empathize with that bulldog? What if you were taking a nap, sound asleep, and suddenly a chimp jumped on you, wrapping all four of its hairy arms around you, nuzzling your ear with its chimp lips? How would you feel? Can you empathize with the bulldog?

Course, there is another perspective. In those days, werkers generally went home for dinner. So my fellow werker’s pal went home for dinner as was his custom. It was also customary, during his dinner break to go out and visit with Petey and the bulldog. So that’s what he did, head out to the back yard to visit with his company. There those twain were, racing up and down the clothesline, the frantic bulldog plus Petey, hanging on for dear life.

Now I have to suit up. It’s time for my delicious cinnamon bun.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Evolving Up, From Little Snails

Are we not men?

That’s right. Devo and the Osage agree that the humble snail is the human progenitor. Actually, the Osage, maybe, credit the snail as the male human progenitor, only. The balance of our ancestry derives from the beaver lady, according to the Osage, maybe. Thank goodness for that. A beaver lady is bound to be a good influence.

Uh. I have no hands on experience with Osage mythology. Plus, I have no Osage acquaintances. Even my bosom companion, Crumby, has no Osage acquaintances. See, I ask Crumby about the Osage. Apparently the Osage are, according to Crumby, Yankee Indians, habitating north of Crumby’s former haunts. Therefore, I can not independently verify any of the above except, of course, the Devo hypothesis, which has been published, widely.

Boy Howdy! I have pushed some dirt under the sun this week. Consequently, I am in one of those moods, tired yet ready. Yepper. Don’t cross Ray Pistrum tonight. If you do, you shall surmise the Wicker Man has got you by the short hairs.

No doubt, all the exercise engendered such high levels of hormones in my system that I plumb forgot the change of seasons which transpired on Day 328. Today is Day 331 so we are already into Polaris the season, named for our friendly, occasionally visible guide star that we call Polar Bear for short. Appropriately, we had a dry norther blow through at the ending of Olwen White Track the season, heralding the coming of the Polar Bear. Yet I was too hormoned up to correlate the norther with the seasonal change.

Ray! Yer swole up. Whut’s ailin’ ye?

Never mind Crumby. I feel the need to kick some evil doer ass. So take over.

All righty then. Go kick some evil doer ass, Ray. Kick some fer me, too.

Hi everybody. It’s me, Crumby, designated shopper. OK. Remember, Rayetta needs the Olympus 70-300mm telephoto/macro lens real bad. Or she would, if the butterflies had not tanked. Yet that particular lens shipment was entirely kidnaped by lusty pirates under subcontract to the commies. Nevertheless, a state department employee volunteer, known by the code name, Herman, has negotiated the release of one of those lenses, just for the Lovely Druidess. The released and unmolested lens meets most of my designated shopper criteria. Even though, it is for sale, but not available. I pre-ordered it thanks to Herman. I also got a 20 dollar discount, nullifying twice the postage cost. Yep 20 - 10 = 10 that I saved. Plus, I still get the rebate.

Now let's review, shoppers. On the negative side of the ledger I had to pre-order and pay postage. Then too, my item is not here yet. On the positive side, I got a lower price, tax free, warrantied item from an authorized dealer, and a rebate. Plus, the item may be here pretty soon, maybe.

The reason I broke down and pre-ordered that lens for Rayetta is, I am weak. My ovations kept spelling me, Crumby, the dollar is sinking. The price of that lens is inversely related to the strength of the dollar, maybe. Lock in that 20 dollar discount, today, before the commies or the allies of the commies, those lusty pirates, up the price. So I was weak, violated my first designated shopper principle, and pre-ordered. Mercy on me, Merciful Goddess!!!!

That dern lens needs to get to the CB before it shows up on Rayetta’s credit card. That way, Rayetta shall have her lens before she gets the bill. Yepper. I ovate, that lens shall arrive at the CB no later than two weeks from today, surely.

Meantime, my legs are way better. I don’t know why. Perhaps my annual worthiness test is coming to a happy end, earlier than is usual. Usually I am excessively tormented during my trial, far into the new year, for some 20 days after the Polaris or Polar Bear Solstice. Yet here I am, all of a sudden, skipping along at a fair pace.

Based on past experience, patterns indicate that I should remain cautious, even wary. I could be smitten by a new affliction any minute out of nowhere. Yet on the other hand, I took the arrival of my prodigal pocket knife as a good sign. In fact, that prodigal pocket knife may be what cured by legs since my legs got well about the same time my prodigal pocket knife showed up. The Blessed Goddess may have returned that prodigal pocket unto me, out of the very bowels of Hades, to spell,

Crumby, here is your red pocket knife back. You have been a good boy this year and I have already decided that your trial is over. You get to continue. Don't lose that pocket knife though. If you lose it again before 20 suns rise after the Polaris Solstice I shall kill you. Then you and that pocket knife shall journey into the bowels of Hades or wherever I decide to put you.

Whoa! That reminds me. I need to sew up the hole in the pocket of my green Brownie pants.

Ray's thought for the Day - Living with the Kinglet Selection Process

The Media, Liberal and Conservative are putting in plenty of OT, making sure we know which prospective Kinglet or Queenlet, the ruling class wants US to trooper for. Remember, always pronounce Media Liberal and Media Conservative, with your best French accent. Utilizing a phony accent shall balance your authenticity with the authenticity of the Media Liberal et Media Conservative. If you happen to be French, do some other phony accent. Like Raymone uses a fake Dixie accent. He’s pretty funny, the librul meedyu, huh-huh.

Most amusing are overpaid and under brained journalists performing noggin high jinks over the Iowa electorate, 24/7. But, overpaid and under brained journalists, you have the potential to be lots more amusing. You could be downright funny. Perform some really funny stories. Like this one my beautiful girlfriend, Ms. Hope Remains is fixing to perform for the Druid News Service.

Goodness! Land sakes alive! Today, Iowa voters were shocked, shocked to learn that all the leading candidates for Kinglet have agreed on one thing, the corn subsidy must go. Not only that, they also agreed that Iowa corn growers must pay back all the corn subsidy checks already received from US going back to the dawn of time. According to Mitt the Mormon, for example,

A corn subsidy has no place in our free market society. These Iowa farmers have been bellied up to the trough long enough. Now, since they won’t be getting any more subsidy checks, they shall have the opportunity to do something useful, just like me, Mitt the Mormon.

Yikes! Mitt the Mormon is pretty tough on the corn fed. We better get a reaction to all this from a real Iowa person. I happen to have a real Iowa person here with me. Home viewers, this is Ms. Silo.

That’s pronounced sigh-luuuuuuuuu. Ms. Remains.

Well, fer sure it is. Anyway, what do you think about the Kinglet candidates deep six nine of the corn subsidy? You are from Iowa, right?

No, actually I just immigrated to Iowa from France. Yet I have speedily learned all about the US culture, Iowa style. This couchon petite went to market. This couchon petite stayed home. This couchon petite had roast boeuf. This couchon petite had none. This couchon petite cried, Oui, Oui,

Hold it! Just a minute. Gracious sakes! Raymone, are you listening in. I can not understand Ms. Silo. Interpret Ms. Silo, Raymone. Si. Oui. All righty then.

So Ms. Sigh-luuuuuuuuuu. Do you think the pigs shall suffer more than the people from the upcoming deep six nine of the corn subsidy?

Mon cheri, les couchons suffer anyway. Ces’t la vie.

Raymone, are you listening in? She did it again. Si. Si. Well I’ll swan!


All righty then, Ms. Sigh-luuuuuuuu, beat it. Your TV interview is officially up. We do not allow that sort of language on the DNS. Ooops! Guess what home audience, we shall have to wait for an official Iowa reaction to the deep six nine of the corn subsidy at some future date, or maybe, more likely, never. Back to you, Ray.

Mercy! My beautiful girlfriend has such a hard job. What a hard job that must be. Mercy! OK. Crumby is next on the venue. Crumby has had an adventure.

Crumby Goes to Renew His Drivers’ License

It came in the mail. Rayetta found it before I could recycle it . That’s right, my driver’s license renewal notice. It is that time again. Report to the Driver’s License Office (DLO).

Off I went. Arrived at the important DLO I was greeted in the DLO vestibule by an elderly cripple in a wheel chair. His leg was in a cast, all bloody.

The computer’s down, the cripple explained. I came to get my license renewed, but I can’t, because the computer is down.

What? I must go into the DLO proper and verify your incredible news, old cripple.

Sure enough, a pretty yet bad tempered young lady confirmed that the computer was down.

Will it be back up pretty soon?

No. Here’s a map showing our other locations.

Dern it. Out I went, back into the cheerless vestibule. That old cripple was still out there. The computers down, he explained to a new group of renewal seekers.

I should have felt sorry for that cripple. After all, he came to the DLO despite being crippled up even worse than me. Plus, he was sort of performing a public service for anyone that would believe an old cripple and therefore be unlikely to verify the cripple’s information with a responsible party. Then I thought, reckon this cripple has a handicapped license plate he would be willing to part with.

So next day I was off again to the DLO. This time the DLO is actually up and running. Yet I knew that I should have waited another day, because the multitude that didn’t get serviced the day before, would all come back the next day, today, just like me. There is a great crowd, a veritable hodge podge of Austink Americano. My number is A137.

Per usual there is a checklist to fill out. Lucky for me, I never go to a real doctor so my mental condition is N/A. Plus,Rayetta spelled me, Crumby, check yes on the first question and no on all the rest. Then sign your name. So that’s what I did.

Patience is stupid. Patient people are better off dead. I’m certain patient people were ahead of me because the electric scoreboard keeping tabs on progress showed ten people fixing to get serviced before me. Since progress is slow, most of those ones ahead of me must be the patient ones. They are better off dead.

Beside, literally, the electric scoreboard, the DLO has a TV. The program on the TV is Animal Planet. Some dopey guys are sitting in a great vehicle. Good Goddess! They are shooting at hyenas with tranquilizer darts. Great! They are whispering inside the great vehicle, like golf. Great! Jeez Louise! Hurry up and call my number.

I’m in the front row closest to the electric scoreboard and the TV. Anyone making progress has to go right past me. Mercy! Finally an attractive young lady strolls past. What a relief? I would enjoy fornicating with that one, maybe. But not with the rest of this bunch. Mercy!

What number are they up to? A-128 service at counter 1, a feminine robotic voice announces. Jeez Louise!

The dart just grazed her, one of the TV idiots whispers. A hyena is running around on the TV, startled, yelping pitifully.

Time passes slowly. I know, I shall clean all the green stuff off my spectacles’ nose rests. That toothpick on my prodigal pocket knife is fixing to come in handy. A-129 blah-blah-blah.

These spectacles look lots better now that I have removed the cupric oxide, dirt and germs. But what shall I do now? I know. I shall convince myself that I have performed a traffic misdeed that I have forgotten about due to amnesia. Or maybe, there is a case of mistaken identity going on. Yes. They have mistaken me for a traffic offender who has stolen my identity or is perhaps my evil twin. Yes. The DLO responsible parties are all wise to me, or think they are. But it’s really my evil twin, Roger, they should be after. That’s why they have me waiting out here in the lobby. They have called for backup because they know I shall never be taken alive.

Is the subject armed?

Yes, oh my goodness, yes. He’s armed. He’s brandishing a red pocket knife.

Eventually the serviced and partially serviced total to A-136. Progress stalls. It’s 4:20 PM for Goddess Sakes! No, no, no!

Most of the progress occurs at counter one. Yet counter one is unmanned. Where’s he gone? The counter one responsible party is my only hope. Is he slumped behind the counter, dead, from over work? No. Praise the Goddess, here he is.

OK everyone. We are going to finish this up. Everyone that needs a license renewal or blah-blah-blah line up over here. I need to see the number on your tickets.

I’m next. I’m A-137.

Then you’re first. Stand over there by the counter.

But then the DLO responsible party had to help the multitude behind me line up in order, behind the lowest numerical ticket holder, me. Good Goddess, if that bunch had been Druids, with numbered tickets in hand, they would have lined up properly in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. But regular Americanos are not Druids by a long shot. So the process took a while. Plus, there was actual confusion. Believe it or not, the DLO responsible party had to actually move people around. He had to grab adults by the arm and move them into position. Then all the babies present commenced bawling, louder.

Happily, after a good while, all the knuckleheads finally lined up in the proper numerical order. Then the DLO responsible party took care of me pronto. So now I am good to go, free to drive, to and fro. But Jeez Louise!

By the time I am supposed to re-up again I shall, Goddess Willing, be so old that I shall refuse. I simply won’t do it. To heck with it.

Rayetta’s Butterflies - A Report on the Tailed Orange (Pyrisitia proterpia)

Rayetta! I saw a new butterfly at werk. You should come to werk with me and take its picture. It may still be hanging around in those parts. It is black and orange on top, and has a distinctive tail.

Interesting Ray. Only the tailed orange (Pyrisitia proterpia) fits that description. Yet that particular butterfly is absent from the possibly antiquated checklist of butterflies in these parts.* Yes Ray. I shall accompany you to your diurnal work environment, maybe. We need a picture of that one. But before I go to all that trouble, let us be clear. Did this butterfly have a cell spot in the forewing?

Noper.

Did this butterfly have any black on the trailing edge of the hindwing?

Uh. I’m not sure about that. I don’t think so.

Hmmm. Did this butterfly have a dogface?

Noper.

And this butterfly was orange Ray. You are sure it was orange.

Yepper.

One more thing, Ray. When did you last espy this butterfly.

Uh. That would have been last Friday, maybe.

Hmmm. Well Ray, that is too long. I can not interrupt my busy schedule chasing down that butterfly. That butterfly may be a mariposa by now. Tell you what. Take this cell phone to work. If you see that butterfly again, call me.

But Rayetta, I may not be able to operate a cell phone by myself.

Nonsense. Well, come to think of it Ray, I understand. So what I am fixing to do is give you a lesson in cell phone operation. Watch Ray. I am disabling everything on this cell phone except, the call your sister button. Now Ray, all you have to do is press this button. It’s foolproof. Here.

All righty then.

Ray. Don’t break my cell phone. Don’t drop it in the mud either.

All righty then.

Don’t lose it. Hmmm. Ray, how is it you have time to watch butterflies at work?

Everyone gets to take short butterfly watching breaks. It’s a fringe benefit.

That’s nice. Give me my cell phone back a minute. See what I am doing Ray. I am reprogramming the cell phone so that any button you press, automatically dials me. That means, Ray, you can’t call anyone else, but me.

All righty then.

*The checkllist may be antiquated, but not on account of the tailed orange. Here it it. I just overlooked it, specimen records for this very nonce in time.

Meantime, we need a tailed orange at the CB where the butterflies continue, sparse. And now, with another dry norther blowing, they may become sparser. Of the few butterflies present at the CB at this time in space, the common mestra is the most common, making do with the Aster subulatus and Aster ericoides. Where are the ubiquitous snouts?

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Let’s Go Play in the Endangered Species Preserve

Could a pig monkey live in harmony with nature? Easy that. No. The natural habitat for a mature pig monkey is paved. Yet even a pig monkey may occasionally venture into the great outdoors, enjoying itself, while situated aboard an aquatic craft, or ensconced in a great terrestrial vehicle.

However, young male pig monkeys, in common with the adventuresome young of many mammalian species, are naturally frisky. These youngsters may get it into their noggins that a quick frisk through the great outdoors is good for self-image. Plus, frisking about in nature is a test of pig monkeyhood.

Naturally, a young pig monkey needs some real outdoors for his pig monkeyhood trial, and a bicycle. Here’s how that works. Young pig monkey loads bicycle on to great vehicle then heads out to the endangered species preserve. But lo and behold, the endangered species preserve gate is locked. The sign reads, Achtung! No Pig Monkeys Allowed.

Whoa! Perhaps you are not a pig monkey. But try to feel like a pig monkey anyway. Just imagine how a pig monkey feels when it sees a sign like that. Furious! That’s because the pig monkey feels like personal freedom, to do anything, anywhere, anytime, is contravened by that sign. But mostly the pig monkey just feels, furious.

The furious young pig monkey gets on his cell phone, driving along furiously, whining on his cell phone. Pretty soon, all the young pig monkey’s family and friends learn what has transpired. All the pig monkeys are, furious.

Anon, that nature preserve is fixed up for pig monkeys. Nice trails are everywhere. Plus, there’s a parking lot and a comfort station. Hold it! A young pig monkey has run his bicycle over a cliff. Achtung! Everyone. We need to rescue a young pig monkey.

OK. Enough with the pig monkeys, all righty then, maybe.

Nature is a luxury that US, in these parts, can not afford. But US can, apparently, afford multi-use endangered species preserves, maybe. That figures, considering US.

Yep. How much does it cost to maintain endangered species habitat? Well, there’s the fencing, and road maintenance. Then there’s the normal access associated with all the utility easements that has to be managed. Yes, and there may be other management activities the managers dream up to justify the cost of salaries and staff. All that costs money.

So by all means, lets pay for public access, too. That way, the cost shall increase, perhaps, a lot. Who knows what the cost shall be for managing young pig monkeys on bicycles in addition to the endangered species habitat?

Crumby Goes Grocery Shopping

I need to beg, borrow or steal one of those handicapped license plates, dern it.

Dern it! These poor old crippled up legs of mine never get any rest. That’s why they never get a chance to heal on up. No rest!

A person might assume that driving to the grocery store might be restful. Well, not if your knee joint is constantly under terrible pressure from operating the gas pedal. Then too, driving to the grocery store is frought with* (full of) adventure. The evil doers are everywhere.

Yesterday, for example, I espied a great vehicle, a Hummer, Tactical Version, while on the way to the grocery store. That made me laugh. Laughing like that while driving to the grocery store is very distracting. I could of had a wreck. Reckon, one of Ray’s theoretical pig monkeys was at the wheel of that Hummer, Tactical Version.

Fortunately, my preferred grocery store is generally adventure free. Plus, they vend a special variety of talking yam. Those yams are always happy to espy me.

Greetings Crumby Ovate! Take me. I am the sweetest yam you ever met.

I like the short, fat yams best. Even though, they are not always the most interesting conversationalists.

Once my yams were bagged up, chattering happily in their bag, I headed over to the emollient aisle. If you are fixing to have an adventure at my grocery store, the emollient aisle is by far the most likely spot. I have actually experienced temper tantrums on the emollient aisle. That’s because all the emollient packages look exactly alike, only, confusingly different. So finding any of Rayetta’s particular emollients is always challenging.

Yesterday, I was after a particularly stealthy emollient. But the Goddess was with me. A pretty and efficient young lady was stocking the emollient aisle. She knew right where Rayetta’s particular emollient was situated. So I bought three. I should have bought them all.

Time to go see the butchers. Butchers have a lot in common with pharmacists. But never mind that. The butchers and butcher trainees at my grocery store are every bit as entertaining as the talking yams. Plus, they know more actual information. So I am always happy to visit with the butcher and butcher trainees because that is my final stop at my grocery store unless I forgot something, usually, a dairy product or cookies.

Time to head on back to the CB with my groceries. Where’s that Hummer, Tactical Version? Maybe it has run into bad trouble on South Lamar. Maybe I shall espy that Tactical Version Hummer performing evasive maneuvers. Maybe it has a machine gun and flares it can shoot off.

I wonder if any pig monkeys shop at my grocery store. I have never seen a Hummer, Tactical Version, parked out front. Yet, my grocery store vends corn and bananas. Hold it! The pig monkey, according to Ray, is a hybrid. Maybe pig monkeys don’t like corn and bananas.

Hold it! Those yams are really loud. Those yams may be scaring the people stopped at this red light. Stop that you caterwauling yams. Stop it! We are almost home.

I need to remember to let the yams ride in the cab. They get over-stimulated in the bed.

All righty then. I am returned to the relative safety of the CB. Huh-huh. You yams want to learn a new song?

Si, Master Crumby.

OK. Repeat, after me.

Crumby’s in the drive way, groceries are to home.
Yet Crumby’s crippled up, can’t tote the bags alone.
Boo-hoo, boo-hoo, What shall poor Crumby do?
Teach the yams a song, yams sing along.

What’s that infernal racket out in the driveway?
Calling CB denizens, come tote the bags away.
Ray, Ray, bosom companion Ray, organize a party
to tote these bags away.

Away, away, tote the bags away.
Where’s Ray, where’s Ray, come tote these bags away.
There’s plenty soap, Rayetta, bagged up to tote away.

Yams, yams, yams, we're caterwauling yams.
Don’t leave us all out here, someone shall call the cops.
Cause we’re the famous caterwauling yams.

OK yams. That’s plenty caterwauling. Here they come.

*All my long life, I have spelled, frought with. Today, I learned there is no such word as frought. Well, f*** that. I spell, frought with is a good enough pair of words anyway, anyhow.

Yet peering back into the depths of time, and considering the ignoramuses that I learned the spell, frought with, from, it could be that I am misspelling it. It could be, the correct spell is froth with. However, the ignoramuses I associated with during those now bygone days always dropped the h sound. So I always assumed it was frought, or especialy stupid, frot. Maybe, frought falls into the same general category as hearst and chimley. Yet f*** it. I have lots to worry about besides frought. I am frought with worry.

How, for example, shall I ever guzzle a lovely yam, ever again?

A Prodigal Pocket Knife

Notice the spell is, A Prodigal Pocket Knife, not, The Prodigal Pocket Knife. That’s because many of my pocket knives are astray in the wilderness. But this one has returned, unto me. Here’s how it returned.

Yesterday, I went out a seed collecting. Anon, I possessed a handful of ripe passion flower fruits of a kind that I want to grow into nice big plants at the CB. Excitedly, I embarked, fruits in hand, upon the long, arduous, dangerous, scary, trip home. Many perils there were on that trip. Multitudes of evil doers lay in ambush fer me along that terrible, dusty trail. Yet, my ovational skills scattered those evil doers away from the trail my weary feet and bad leg trod. Eventually, after a lot of trouble, I got home with my fruits.

This time, I shall put all these fruits in a three gallon. That way I shall be certain to remember where I put them. But then I noticed that the three gallon I had espied, for to contain my fruits, lacked dirt.

Come on Lulu. We need to dig up some dirt out of the south compost pile for this 3 gallon. You need to watch out. Keep those dern rats from attacking me.

Off we headed out on the perilous trip to the treacherous environs of the south compost pile.

Pretty soon, with Lulu on the look out for all those hoards of rats that sometimes get after me in those parts, I had the dern bucket full of the desired dirt. Then, lo and behold, as I cast my vision downward onto the dirt that was still situated amongst the vast pile of dirt that is the south compost pile, I espied one of my pocket knives that verily stampeded off into the wilderness who knows how long ago. It was pretty long ago.

Whoa! A prodigal pocket knife has returned unto me, I exclaimed happily. But soon my joy foundered. Hunkered down on my twain crippled knees, one of those knees, seized up on me. Also the prodigal pocket knife was seized up. Help me up, Lulu. Help me up.

After my trusty dog got me on my feet again, I began a careful examination of my returned prodigal pocket knife. It was seized up, all righty then. Even the toothpick was seized up.

We shall soon see about this stray, Lulu. I shall soon have it spruced up, good as new, almost, maybe. Now lets get out of here before those rats attack us. Don’t forget the 3 gallon, Lulu.

The best way to spruce up a returned, prodigal pocket knife is to give it an oil bath. Handily, I have plenty of oil left over from when the two cycle lawn mower worked. Handily, I also have left over, molded plastic containers that various gizmos arrived at the CB in. Taking one of those molded plastic containers and filling it with oil, I soon had my prodigal pocket knife entirely immersed.

Ye are baptized my son, not in mere water, but in expensive, left over, two-stroke enigne oil, in the name of the Holy Goat, the Holy Cow, and the Holy Pig. That spell did the trick, almost. Once I got most of the oil off my prodigal pocket knife, the various utensils contained in and about the pocket knife were less seized up. Utilizing considerable man power, and pliers, I was just able to get every one of those utensils cranked free or open. Surprisingly, the tweezers were easy.

Then, laying my hand upon a Q-Tip, I employed that Q-tip to slather heat proof plumber’s grease into every nook and cranny, even those nooks where the sun don’t shine, of that returned prodigal.

Ha! At last I have a pocket knife again. I shall take a picture of my spruced up returned son, or pocket knife. Dern it. No camera. Ray, can you take my returned prodigal pocket knife’s picture, fer me, with Rayetta’s and yer camera.

Thanks Ray. I owe you one.

Many may wonder why, I, the Crumby Ovate, have gone maybe a year without a pocket knife. Easy that, I took a vow, after the last pocket knife ran off, that I should never get another pocket knife because they always run off. No, I ovated, I shall await the return of a prodigal pocket knife. Some day a prodigal shall return, unto me.

Now that great day has arrived, yesterday. Praise the Goddess!!!! See. You may yet espy the heat proof plumber’s grease. Or, that may be some left over dirt.

Ray’s Round Table - #6, Special Guest, King Arthur, Again

All righty. This time, I Ray Pistrum, Sun God Trainee, since this is my program, have changed up the format. Today, I am having a one-on-one parley with King Arthur. Last week, as some may recall, King Arthur got sick on the air. He almost had a panic attack. I figure that was because he got over-stimulated by the crowded conditions in the laboratory and close contact with my regular guests who were undoubtedly using up too much of King Arthur’s potential oxygen. That’s right. Over-stimulation and low oxygen levels probably are what combined to mess up my program last week So this week, just the two of us, me and King Arthur, are on the program.

King Arthur, I know that Culwuch is your cousin and all, and I am certainly appreciative of the fact that you are only on my program because Culwuch begged you to come on. What I don’t fully understand is, Why do you keep doing favors for that asshole Culwuch, every single time he asks for a favor? Besides, that asshole, Culwuch, tried to steal my beautiful Moon Goddess girlfriend, Olwen White Track, away. Uh. Also King Arthur, if you feel that you are getting yourself over-stimulated, take a drag on that Oxygen bottle.

No Oxygen is coming out, Ray.

You have to turn that dang knob.

OK. Now it’s working.

Breathe in slowly, King Arthur.

Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuu. There. That’s better. What was your question again Ray?

My question is, Why do you keep doing favors for that asshole Culwuch, every time he asks for a favor?

Oh yes, Culwuch is my fairly worthless young cousin. Well Ray, compartmentalized family values is why. You may know, Ray, that in my hey day, the Golden Rule, was controversial. Yet in general, I was fixing to enforce the Golden Rule, relying upon my kingly assets to do just that. Pretty soon though, I perceived that the Golden Rule needed to be reduced in scale, from a general to a more specific application. That’s where compartmentalized family values came in handy. Hold it. Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

Anyway, what did you call Culwuch, Ray?

He’s an asshole.

That’s right. I would pretty much agree that Culwuch is an asshole. Yet Culwuch is kinfolk to me, King Arthur. Culwuch, might even be my son. So you see Ray, I am obliged to do him favors. The Golden Rule applies to Culwuch, even though, as you say Ray, he may be an asshole.

In fact, looking back on past events, the behavior of my family is why I needed to change the scale on the Golden Rule. I figured that since all my family were assholes, if I could apply the Golden Rule just to them, that would be a Kingly accomplishment. So I treat all of that bunch like I would like for them to treat me. Every one of them gets treats. Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

Plus Ray, as a former orphan, you should show some sympathy for Culwuch. After all, Culwuch was a poor little orphan bastard, just like you. Yet here you are, calling him an asshole on TV.

Yeah but, he’s not my cousin.

He might be Ray. Do you know for certain, that Culwuch is not your cousin?

Uh? Dang it. He’s not my cousin.

Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuu. So anyway, once I got the Golden Rule reduced in scale to just about cover extended family members, I set about using my Kingly assets to provide favors for everyone in my extended family that might need a leg up or helping hand. For example, my possible brother, Kai, got a job in my administration as Sun God Trainee. And actually, Kai got that job on merit. Kai is one of the assets I keep referring too.

I know all about Kai, King Arthur. He sneaked up on my cousin, Dillus the Bearded, while poor Dillus was sleeping off his supper. Then he plucked out Dillus’ beard. Then he slew Dillus outright. I’d like to meet up with Kai in a dark alley.

Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuu. Let’ not go there, Ray. Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

Sorry King Arthur. I didn’t mean to get personal on the program.

Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuu. So, as you can see for yourself Ray, the scale of the Golden Rule is all important. It’s tough, just ruling your kinfolk, much tougher, a bunch of strangers and foreigners.

All righty. King Arthur, the actual reason you are on my program is to plug your new book, Kin Selection Among the Ancient British. I must admit, King Arthur, I have not had a chance to actually read your book, but I did look at some of the pictures. What’s Kin Selection Among the Ancient British, all about?

Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuu. Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuu. Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

Uh oh. Home viewers, King Arthur may have used up all his Oxygen. That dang Crumby must have forgot to fill up the bottle. Oh well, maybe next week King Arthur can come back and tell everyone what’s in his new book, Kin Selection Among the Ancient British.

Watch out for the Wickerman!!!!

Rayetta's Butterflies - Strymon istapa

Ray! Stop eating your delicious cinnamon bun in here. This is a laboratory. No eating. You know that. Take it outside. Hold it. You got crumbs right here, and here. Clean those up first. Now, go outside. Flabbergasting! It's always something.

Anyway, this little scrub-hairstreak, the mallow scrub-hairstreak, visits the CB during Olwen the season, and apparently, during no other season. The CB-BDS indicates occurrence, two years running.

This electropictoid made it onto the venue because it shows that the back of the noggin on this hairstreak is blue. Blue tops on hairstreaks are not uncommon, but very hard to get in the electropictoid. So I chose this electropictoid for the venue.

Meanwhile I need to check on something in the kitchen. Here we are. Just as I suspected, all the salt shakers are empty. Here are three salt shakers, all, empty.

Where is that Crumby Ovate? Here he is. Crumby, have you ever filled up a salt shaker?

Maybe. It's bad luck to spill salt, Rayetta. Therefore, I generally avoid filling up the salt shakers on that account, potential bad luck.

See what I mean. It's always something. Flabbergasting!