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.