Rayetta's Birds

Well Crumby, looks like you have found time to get Magnus off the pig.

Well Rayetta, looks like you have found time to take electropictoids of birds that everyone can tell at a mere glance without bothering with electropictoids.

It's practice Crumby, with the 70-300mm.

Practice for what, Rayetta?

None of your business, Crumby. Anyway, Crumby, what's this bird, Mr. Smarty Pants?

It's Vermivora celata.

Correct, Crumby. See! I can now take identifiable pictures of birds for the CB data base. How about that?

It is, as I foretold, Rayetta.

No you didn't.

Yes, I did Rayetta. I foretold this very event.

I do not recall any such foretelling.

That's because you were probably not paying attention.

Not likely, Crumby.

Likely, Rayetta.

Oooooooooo! You are really pissing me off, Crumby!

OK. I need to go outside anyway, to espy if a new dry norther has blown in.

The WG Bar and Grill

As Magnus and Twrch Trwyth traverse those parts at a good pace, headed for the WG Bar and Grill, those twain discuss this and that. Since Magnus and Twrch Trwyth are both omnivorous mammals, they have much in common to discuss as they traverse those parts. Magnus, since he is entirely unfamiliar with those parts, has many questions. Twrch Trwyth has many answers, from a porcine point of view. Yet Twrch Trwyth desires some answers also.

Yes Magnus. Those are oaks. The acorns that fall like sleet from those oaks are delicious. Magnus, why were you wandering like a monkey in the woods, last night?

I had the day off from child labor, so I decided to go exploring. That’s what I did, go exploring. And I found a pretty cool Dolmen. But then the child molesters started pestering me. Yet those child molesters, feared to approach the Dolmen. Then those child molesters tried to lure me down from the Dolmen with promises of candy and bosoms. I was too busy for candy and bosoms. Still those child molesters pestered me. An idiot they dispatched at me. But the idiot wandered this way and that way. Then the child molesters commenced to stone the idiot. So I left.

Off into the woods I scampered. My plan was to get back to the sacrifice mall by sun up. Yet that journey was filled with distractions. My progress was erratic. That was my status when I met up with you, Twrch Trwyth. Now I fret that the Druids shall be put out with me, once those Druids discover I am not available for child labor.

Fret not on that account young Magnus. Once the twain of us get freshened up, anon, the twain of us, both you and me, Magnus, shall make a circuit of these parts. I shall visit with those Druids on your account. We shall see what they have to spell about that, once they espy the twain of us, Magnus.

What about those child molesters, Twrch Trwyth? Shall we visit them on the upcoming circuit of these parts also. Plus you may be interested to visit my Dolmen.

Oh yes, Magnus. We shall certainly pay a visit to those child molesters and your Dolmen. Snort! Here we are, the famous WG Bar and Grill.

Sure enough there they were. To Magnus’ eyes, used to the relative splendor of the sacrifice mall, the WG Bar and Grill seemed a let down, a ramshackle construction, a porch fixed to a hillside, the walls floor and roof of that porch, naught but rough planks, the furniture on that porch, naught but rough planks. Then too, hung from the roof, Magnus espied also a rough plank sign that spelled only, WG Bar and Grill. Nobody was about that porch either. Plus there was lots of junk scattered around the yard. Old cars and such.

Where is everybody, Twrch Trwyth?, questioned Magnus.

Cover your ears Magnus. I shall squeal to the high heavens as a signal to the denizens of our arrival.

Magnus covered his ears. Then Twrch Trwyth let out a squeal to the high heavens such that all the leaves in all those parts shimmied on the branches. So great was that squeal that the branches of the trees also shook. Squirrels upon those branches had to hold on tight to keep balance. One of those squirrels, noticing that the rest of the squirrels were distracted, and simultaneously caught up in a displacement behavior, limb masturbated.

Anon, triplet ladies took shape on the porch. Those triplet ladies appeared thus to Magnus. The lady in the middle was old and bent from the great weight of her twain bosoms. Upup dragged mightily on those old bosoms. Also, two additional ladies stood with the old lady, one at each elbow, assisting the old lady, situated in the middle, betwixt those other twain. One of those twain additional ladies appeared only a little older than Magnus. While the other lady appeared somewhat older. Yet all three ladies were fair to look upon, overlooking the catfish belly skin tones and bloodshot eyes.

Mercy, thought Magnus, those ladies may be fixing to eat me or drink my blood.

Look Granny. Our pig has returned out of the wilderness, just when we surmised he was lost.

Look, Mama. Our pig has a rider, an ugly little boy.

Hep me off the porch!

Anon the twain ladies helped the old lady off the porch so that all triplet of those three ladies were off the porch and out in the yard staring up at Twrch Trwyth and Magnus. Anon, the old lady cried out, Hocus pocus, bigger us.

Magnus was astonished. With that cry, the triplets grew to a great size relative even to the size and general volume of Twrch Trwyth. Mercy, thought Magnus.

The three ladies actually had to bend over to get a good look at Magnus. All three did just that too, bend over. Three great big lady noggins, almost touching, canopied over Magnus, and all three of those triplet ladies closed one eye, so that three great big solitary bloodshot eyes winked at Magnus

Who is this then, little boy?, the old lady wanted to know.

But Magnus could only stammer, Mercy, mercy on me, mercy, mercy, mercy!!!!

Yet Twrch Trwyth spake up for Magnus.

It is Magnus, a little orphan bastard, one of Bran’s, a Flake.

Is it! Well now, I shall take it inside and give it a bath. Meantime, you two give the pig a bath. Then bring him along.

Yes Granny. Yes Mama.

So seizing Magnus by his collar, that some call the scruff of the neck, the old lady about faced. Yet as She about faced and hobbled for the porch, She shrank, so that anon, once the twain of them, both Magnus and the old lady reached the porch, She gradually shrank, or downsized to Her more reasonable former volume.

Hep me up on the porch!

Magnus, straining with might and mane against Upup, hepped the old lady up, on to the porch.

Hep me inside!

Magnus, straining with might and mane, hepped the old lady toward a crack in the hill side wall of the porch.

Hep me over to yonder chair!

Magnus, straining with might and mane, hepped the old lady over to yonder chair.

Hep me get situated!

Magnus, straining with might and mane, hepped the old lady get situated.

Now then Magnus, what do you have to say for yourself?

Huh, huh, huh, huh. Are you fixing to give me a bath, personally? Or was that a figure of speech? Cause I am plenty big enough to give myself a bath. Plus, I shall be embarrassed if you give me a bath. Then too, I shall get about as clean in a private bath, yet lack the probable embarrassment. You are not fixing to drink my blood, once I’m cleaned up, are you? You know that pig is my friend. He is liable to root this place up if you drink my blood.

What a notion, Magnus. How did you come up with that notion? Why would a nice old lady like me, drink your blood?

Yer a witch, aint ye? Witches drink the blood of young boys like me. Everybody knows that.

Hmmm. What makes you think I’m a witch, Magnus?

Bloodshot eyes! Everybody knows a bloodshot eye is an evil eye and an evil eye is the sure sign of a blood swilling witch. Then there’s the hocus pocus. Witches do the hocus pocus. I am surprised that the WG would allow a witch, such as yourself, to greet the customers at this establishment. I bet you have scared off many a paying customer. I sure am hungry. In fact, come to think of it, I’m starving. Nothing to eat lately but a little Nostoc, which , while it has a refreshing, minty taste, does not stick to my ribs. Twrch Trwyth says I get to eat and drink my fill in these parts. Yet here I stand, starving, with naught but a witch that is fixing to drink my blood, for company. Woe is me that I ever set forth. I was better off with the Druids. At least those Druids fed me once in a while.

Hmmm. Well I espy that your friend has had a nice bath, and he, at any rate was not embarrassed by the ministrations of my daughter and grand daughter. Look Magnus! Behold, your friend, the great Twrch Trwyth, Lord of the Pigs.

Magnus turned about to espy the coming of his friend, Twrch Trwyth, just as the evil old witch, foretold. Mercy! There was Twrch Trwyth, shrunk down to the size of agreat boar, maybe 800 pounds, a mere piglet. Plus, those other twain younger ladies, also witches, had bedecked Twrch Trwyth with ribbons and bows. Plus the formerly mighty pig smelled of violets.

Mercy! I am totally betrayed, undone, at the mercy of these witches. Mercy! Soon as I take my bath, these witches shall drink my blood. And that pig shall not help me. How could he? Look at him. He is, a sissy.

Our pig is spruced up, Granny.

Our pig is hungry, Mama.

I sure am. I could amble over to a trough or two, all righty then.

Mercy, thought Magnus. Shall I ever wander into the wilderness, again, unsupervised?

But the old lady hollered out, Then go forth over yonder, my pet. There is one trough, full to the brim with creamed corn, day old dough nuts, moldy bread, peas, carrots, cream gravy, prime gristle of chicken fried steak, rattlesnake meat, plus all else that a pig could desire. Then once you have eaten your fill, my favorite pet, there is a trough of stale beer. You shall drink your fill of that. Plus there is no bottom to either of those troughs. Bon appetite!

Then Twrch Trwyth ambled over to those twain troughs.

Mercy, thought Magnus. That pig is a sell out. Look at him, guzzling and swilling away. While I myself am starving, at the mercy of these triplet witches.

Now for you Magnus. First you must take a nice bath. Then, once you are cleaned up, you may order anything on the menu.

OK. But I am starving. May I order now and thereby get ordering out of the way so that I may have some victuals as soon as I get cleaned up, and thereby keep from starving.

Course you may order now, Magnus.

Then I would like to have a nice private bath. Er. Or if maybe that is out of the question, your grand daughter might assist me, with the toweling off. Then, I would like a hamburger or two, no mayo, with some French fries, or grits, and a jumbo RC.

Done. Grand daughter, show Magnus to the Boy’s Comfort Station.

All righty then, Granny.

Suddenly Magnus felt perfectly at home. And Magnus was pretty sure these witches were not fixing to drink his blood

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Busy!!!!

Besides flies, last year, DY 1, we took lots of electropictoids of various other invertebrates, mostly Class Insecta. Now, Red has ordered most of us to drop everything, except chores, until we figure out what those inverts are. Red spells, Those are worthless, unless we know what they are.

Well, maybe not entirely worthless, since we do know something about the habitat preference of the featured invert even if we don’t know what it is. But, we appreciate Red’s drift. Anyhow, all the semi-literate and scientifically minded among us have been drafted to identify the inverts in the electropictoids, at least to genus.

We are making some progress. Yet the effort shall curtail much else, like Ray’s Round Table. That’s because multi-tasking is for Mammonites, not Druids. Those Mammonites invented multi-tasking. Let them enjoy their preferred methodology and lifestyle choice while we focus in on identifying the inverts in the electropictoids.

An example of progress, Trichiotinus piger. Trichiotinus, for sure, maybe, piger, maybe.
_____

Meantime, in Rayetta’s office, Crumby is whining.

It’s not fair Rayetta. First off, most of DY 1, my camera was broke. So I took hardly any electropictoids. Second off, since I didn’t take the dern electropictoids in the first place, why should I have to identify the dern bugs in the electropictoids. Third off, there’s Magnus to consider. Magnus is riding around on a pig. He can’t do that forever. He’s got to dismount somewhere, sometime. Fourth off, I can already since the ground tilting beneath me, tilting me closer and closer to virtually continuous exposure to the relentless rays of fickle Ogma Sunface. Thus, I am enfeebled, moment by moment, and should, consequently, be assigned easy tasks, facilitate with my weakening condition.

Hmmm. Crumby, have you heard from Bran the Blessed about your potential professional post as Twrch Trwyth’s exclusive hair vender?

Dern it Rayetta, you are changing the subject.

And?

Yepper.

And?

I failed to secure that particular position, Rayetta.

And?

That dern pig decided to go with a bigger firm with a branch outlet located closer to his regular runs.

Tough Crumby. I know how much you wanted that professional position. But look on the sunny side. Now you shall have plenty of time to identify the inverts in our electropictoids, and, you may perhaps, still have some time, maybe during your breaks, to help Magnus get down off the pig.

Sigh!

This too shall pass, Crumby.

Sigh!

Ray's Thought for the Day - Gungha Din (RIP)

Another trusty beasty has bit the dust. Thus, Americano global democracy, the corporate state version, has experienced another tiny, temporary setback. Board up the McDonaldsons!, in Rawalpindi.

Yes. How many of US Americanos are waiting to hear what our Kinglet or Queenlet wannabes have to say? Yes. Which Kinglet or Queenlet to be or not to be, is best qualified to handle this sort of temporary setback, down the road?

Uh! Mitt the Mormon handled the Olympics crisis so he is probably best qualified to deal with any temporary setback that comes along, whatever.

Anon, or already, all the wannabes shall or have spake up. Yet only by accident did I detect the words of Mitt. Now, for a few days, I need to make sure to avoid the news, so that I shall thus detect no more. If, by accident, I am in the same room with a TV, I shall turn away, plus cover my ears. I know all I want to know.

As usual, I know nothing factual about Mrs. Bhutto, except that she could afford the air fare to return out of exile to where she belonged. The Americano State Department global democracy crowd approved of that return, hoping Mrs. Bhutto’s presence, where she belongs, would help destabilize the affable dictator, Pervez. Oh well. Perhaps Mrs. Bhutto shall accomplish that goal from the mausoleum.

Some might ask, Why should we give Pervez 10 billion dollars, then destabilize him? Well, as the saying goes, It’s your money, maybe baby. So somebody, among the high and mighty, must have objected to the affable dictator’s bookkeeping.

Historically, in the good old days, when the Americano State Department financed global fascism, all the billions went straight into the pocket of a local despot. Then, the first rule of economics, trickle down, had some of that billions trickling down to the despot’s family, friends, the police and army. That sounds a lot like the exact disposition of the 10 billion Pervez got.

Yes, but now, the Americano State Department global democracy crowd finds itself facing a dichotomy of semi-epic proportions. The dichotomy is thus and thus. On the one hand, historically, propping up local fascist despots works. On the other hand, handing out cash to average miserable Iraqis on street corners is more democratic and lots of fun. Besides. There’s no telling where the money went. So, handing out cash to average miserable Pakistanis might also be more democratic and lots of fun.

The upshot of this dichotomy is, that the Americano State Department global democracy crowd now has not one, but two, methodologies for giving away, I mean disbursing, my money. Miraculously, so far I still have some money left. Praise the Goddess! I can still afford my weekly cinnamon bun.

Aint imperialism, great!

Magnus Debates the Ominous Darkness

Magnus’s return journey to the sacrifice mall would have been impossible for most. Owls, bats and midges filled the airways, hooting , flapping and whining. Giants, ogres, hump backs, black men, green men, etc., of every description and possible kind lurked behind every shrub or bush, or startled by Magnus’s passage, crashed about, mumbling to themselves. Occasionally, Magnus was tempted by an alluring succubus. The tree crickets chirped, the night birds cried. Small mammals humped Magnus on his legs, if Magnus suffered them to do so.

If I keep stopping every time I need to make a mental note on all this nightlife, I may not ever get home. So Magnus, guided by our friendly guide star, Polaris, determined to stop only for exceptionally interesting nightlife, as opposed to all of it. After that decision was made, Magnus made better progress and his legs got humped less.

On journeyed Magnus. For a while, Magnus detected nothing knew. This is all the same stuff. But then, of a sudden, an ominous darkness appeared before Magnus. Not only that, Polaris, our friendly guide star, was swallowed up by the ominous darkness. The ominous darkness appeared thus to Magnus. It was about a double wide times four with bristles on top.

Then the ominous darkness spake to Magnus.

By the Triplet Goddess, you are the just about the ugliest little boy I have espied, ever. (The ominous darkness, nocturnal by nature, could see better in the dark than Magnus).

Yeah but, pretty is as pretty does. Besides, ominous darkness, you need to stop that cussing.

Oh, I do, do I?

Yepper. The Druids spell that the Triplet Goddess despises a cussy tongue.

Yeah but, what would you say if I told you that I am the most important of all the Triplet Goddess’ pets? Do you surmise then, little ugly one of the bad manners, that I might get to cuss whenever I feel like it? Besides, I wasn’t cussing.

Yes, you were!

No, I wasn’t!!

Long the twain of them, both Magnus and the ominous darkness debated the question, Is swearing by the Triplet Goddess, cussing? The debate was long. The tide turned many times. Magnus, knew the Druid Law referencing the topic, backwards and forwards. Yet, the ominous darkness got personal ear scratches and treats from the Blessed Hands of the Triplet Goddess.

Anon, the east reddened. Up, arose fickle Ogma Sunface, ever the bane of nocturnal debaters. Anon, Ogma’s fickle light reflected upon the ominous darkness, so that the ominous darkness reflected that light unto the eyes of Magnus.

Sir. You are a great pig. I have spent the night, debating, a great pig.

So you have. And I have spent the night, debating, an ugly little boy.

The debate was a draw.

What’s your name, ugly little boy?

The Druid Law is, Don’t tell your name to strangers.

Fair enough, then I shall tell you my name. Then, we won’t be strangers, so you may then, tell me your name.

All righty then. What is your name, great pig?

Twrch Twryth is my name.

That is a mighty fine twain name, Twrch Trwyth. I, alas, am a little orphan bastard, with no real name, yet the Druids have long hollered Magnus at me. So, to keep from getting beat, I answer to that, Magnus.

Then the greatest heart of the greatest swine ever, Twrch Twryth, was afflicted with the fourth greatest sadness that had ever afflicted that great heart. Tears welled in Twrch Trwyth’s beady eyes. The mighty Twrch Trwyth’s shook his head to slosh away the surface layer of that well of tears. Then, Twrch Trwyth snorted. So mighty was that snort that little Magnus was blown over backwards, plus, covered head to toe in pig snot.

Yikes! Mercy! Cried out, Magnus. Are you fixing to drown me and eat me?

No, no, no Magnus. I am not fixing to drown you and eat you. Sorry about that. There you go. Get some leaves and wipe yourself off. There now. Wipe all that off your little ugly face.

While Magnus wiped most of the pig snot off, Twrch Twryth swanned.

I’ll swan. No, Magnus, I am not fixing to eat you, I am fixing to be your friend and help you. You don’t remember, Magnus, but when you were littler and totally unable to protect yourself, everyone was fixing to sacrifice you. But the Druids refused to sacrifice you on account of how ugly you are. There you were hung up in a gunny sack in the fork of an Alder. Those Druids might have left you there, helpless. Yet Bran, for whom Bran Flakes are named, spake to the Druids, commanding those Druids to adopt you. So those Druids, fearing the wrath of Bran, took you in. There you have labored, at the sacrificial mall, ever since. Yet you are one of Bran’s, as the Talking Head foretold, you, Magnus are one of his, a Bran Flake. Bran the Blessed sent me, Twrch Trwyth, to root you out.

Magnus was mighty interested, hearing all this new information pertinent to his life history. Plus, Magnus wondered just what kind of help he could expect from a giant pig like Twrch Trwyth. Anon, Magnus was fixing to learn just how helpful Twrch Trwyth could be.

Magnus, would you like to go for a piggy-back ride?

What’s a piggy-back ride?

Those Druids never took you for a piggy-back ride?

Noper.

Well then, you are fixing to get your first piggy-back ride.

Then Twrch Trwyth explained to Magnus the proper procedure for climbing up to the very tip top of his, Twrch Trwyth's hump, which Magnus speedily accomplished. There Magnus sat, atop Twrch Twryth, the mightiest height in those parts. Magnus could espy a far piece in every direction. This is great, hollered Magnus. Yet, as Bran had foretold, Magnus, not for the last time, would rise to great heights.

Off they went, the twain of them, Magnus upon the hump of Twrch Twryth.

Where are we headed?

The WG Bar and Grill. We’ll eat and drink our fill. Plus, you could stand some cleaning up, Magnus.

All righty then.
_____

Ray's Final Rainfall Total for DY 1 Plus the New Total for DY 2

49.65". That's it. So near and yet so far from the nice round number, 50.

Weatherwise, the old year, DY 1, ended on a dry note. Now DY 2 is starting out dry. Plus, as Rayetta noted previously, we are relentlessly afflicted with dry northers, ill winds that blow no good. The air is foul with pollution. There is no moisture in the air. The cold winds whip relentlessly. Mercy!

When the heck shall I seed? I have lots of seed, to seed, yet, no opportunity.

Goddess, we need two or three inches of rain, ASAP.

On Day 5 of DY 2, the total rainfall so far is, 0.00". Mercy!

Ray's Thought for the Day - Fly Memories

Well. It's Day 4 of Dy 2. Flies are scarce in these parts. Flies don't like this weather. Me neither. Yet, wherever those flies are, I hope they are thinking kindly thoughts regarding their friend, me, Ray. Just as I think kindly of those flies.

Coincidence has maybe allowed me to put a name to one of my fly friends who kindly posed for this electropictoid. Yepper. I now believe this may be a soldier fly, possibly Odontomyia pilmana.

During my youth at the orphanage, as a special treat, Dr. Swineherd would allow me to watch cartoons on TV. My favorite cartoons featured insects, singing and dancing to classical music and jazz while avoiding a big nasty spider that was always trying to get them. Those were great cartoons.

Anyway, I'm not sure, but Odontomyia pilmana may have starred in one of those cartoons.

Magnus Outsmarts the Child Molesters

Yes. Magnus was so focused on the dolmen and its environment that he failed to notice a whole village of child molesters sneaking up on him until it was almost too late. There they were, a whole village of them, including the village idiot, about 50m downslope to the south, their ominous shadows drawing even closer than 50m. Because at that time of year in those parts, Ogma Sunface was journeying far to the south.

Magnus eyed the child molesters. The child molesters eyed Magnus. Furtively, while simultaneously eyeing Magnus, the child molesters discoursed among themselves.

Yonder is an ugly boy child. Yet we could put its head in a burlap bag.

Aye! Huh-huh!

But we fear to approach yonder ominous dolmen.

Aye! Huh-huh!

That dolmen is ominous.

Aye! Huh-huh!

One of us needs to cajole the boy down to us.

Aye! Huh-huh!

I shall cajole that boy down. Yet if I cajole him down, I get to enjoy him first.

Aye! Huh-huh!

So the child molesters had a volunteer who was fixing to cajole Magnus down. The volunteer was the school marm, a young lady experienced with boys. Forth the school marm stepped out from the crowd of child molesters.

Come down little boy, and I shall give you some candy. Plus, I shall let you feel my bosoms. See my bosoms. Wouldn’t you like to play with my bosoms?

No. I shall not come down. Stop molesting me. Can’t you see I’m busy.

Magnus’s rebuff of their school marm stunned the villagers. All the villagers were proud of their school marm’s bosoms. In fact, those particular bosoms were the villages’ main claim to fame.

Well, that didn’t work. I know. Let’s send the idiot up. The idiot lacks sense, and fears not the dolmen. Yes. The idiot can capture that boy.

Aye! Huh-huh!

OK. Where’s the idiot? We need to organize the idiot.

Aye! Huh-huh!

Here he is. See this burlap bag?

Duh!

OK. Take this burlap bag, go up the hill, capture that boy, put him in the bag, then bring the boy, inside the bag, back down the hill to right here. Do you understand all that?

Duh!

Pretty soon the villagers shoved the village idiot from their midst. For a time the idiot headed out, and up, in the general direction of Magnus. Huh-huh, thought the villagers, our idiot shall soon fetch that boy down.

Yet, those are a lot of directions for an idiot to remember. After a while the idiot started to wander off in this direction or that, distracted by whatever. Espying that the idiot was not making good progress, all the villagers commenced yelling at him. The idiot, responding to the excited yelling, turned full about, grinning at the villagers, perplexedly.

Everyone yelled instructions at the idiot. But the idiot was confused and made no progress. Then the villagers anger and frustration boiled over like a cauldron with too long a fire set to its hind end.

I know. Let’s stone our idiot.

Aye! Huh-huh!

All the villagers scrambled about, seeking stones to cast at the miserable idiot.

Which led Magnus to the conclusion that he, Magnus, should hop it mighty quick. So away he went, his memory, intact.
_____

Ray’s Thought for the Day - I Already Feel Myself Less Feeble

Yes. I feel it. I feel Planet Earth tilting. Yes. The angle of incidence is coming to favor the Sun God Trainee. But I still can’t go outside. It’s too cold.

Er. What’s this? “But among those Druids, some were afflicted with Sun God worship. Those secret Sun God Druids resented Magnus. But fortunately for Magnus, those Druids were all cowards.”

Uh oh. Crumby’s pal, Magnus, must be having trouble with Sun God Druids. Huh! You might think that, because I am a Sun God Trainee, I get pissed off by derogatory references to Sun God Druids. Not so. There’s a big difference between a Sun God Trainee and a Sun God Druid. Most, maybe all, Sun God Druids are cowards, and traitors, selling out and sucking up to the Sun God du jour. The Trainee, on the other hand, is striving with all his might and mane, to gain the favor of the WG. That’s a big difference.

Later comes the tragic dichotomy. The Sun God Trainee matriculates to full Sun God status. His Druids compete for his attention. But those Druids are not of one mind. Some hold to the WG and the Land. While some worship only the power of the Sun God. These are the Sun God Druids, who come with flattery and ill counsel, forgetting the WG and forsaking the Land.

Whose counsel shall the Sun God, the King, follow?

Uh, oh! Now the child molesters are fixing to get little Magnus!!!! Jeez Louise!

The On-Going Adventures of Magnus Magnetico

Anon, Magnus was wandering along. I know, I shall pay a visit to that interesting Dolmen over yonder that is verily topping that hill.

Customarily in these type biographical accounts, the hero, in a similar situation, walks along for several days and never gets much closer to the landmark, his desired destination. Eventually though, he fetches upon the landmark, abetted by divine intervention.

However, Magnus just hiked on over to the dolmen, making good progress. How did Magnus make such good progress? Easy that, Magnus was young and frisky. The hill was blessed with a gentle slope. Thus, the Force of Upup, set against Magnus, was slight.

Over to the dolmen hiked Magnus, arriving scarcely winded. There stood the dolmen, a fairly big one. Magnus set to work. First he cleared some space in his noggin. Then he labeled the empty space, Dolmen - Discovered by Magnus - Day 1, DY -2257.

Yes. That’s right, Magnus was given time off, all day, from child labor on Polar Bear Solstice Day. That’s because none of the Druids wanted to supervise the child laborers on a holiday.

Next, Magnus configured a map, indicating how to get from the sacrificial mall to the dolmen, including all the landmarks he could still remember.

Finally, Magnus memorized a great many, perhaps a tousand or maybe two tousand, details relevant to the dolmen, including some actual measurements. Magnus made mental note of the soil the dolmen stood in, all the plant species found within 10m of the dolmen, all the insects found within that 10m circle, all the birds that sang, all the beasts that walked upon four feet, all the beasts that slithered upon no feet or many feet, too many to count, the community, the association, the biome, the weather, the climate, the ecosphere, the niche, the habitat, the lichens, the fungi, the child molesters.

Whoa! Child molesters!!!!

Ray’s Round Table # 11 - Happy New Year, Day 2, DY 2

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’s round table guests, just like last Sunday, are, Ms. Hope Remains, Ace Reporter, Druid News Service; Dr. Rayetta Pistrum, the Lovely Druidess Rayetta; and my bosom companion, Mr. Crumby Ovate.

Yepper. Me and my regular guests are embarked upon that same old annual journey around Ogma Sunface. That’s the big picture. But what shall be different about this journey versus all the others that preceded this one. Let’s ask my regular guests.

Ms. Remains, What’s the difference?

Well I’ll swan, Ray. The difference is me. I shall be different. I shall maintain a constant, low mass, rather than a variable mass. That should take some stress off poor Planet Earth. No more fretting over little me, Ray.

Gee sweetie. I never noticed that your mass varied.

Perhaps you didn’t Ray, sugar. But it did. Those grams can add up in the wrong spots. But I shall keep those grams off those spots this year. That’s the difference. I’m really serious too.

Well, all righty then. Ms. Hope Remains, Ace Reporter, is fixing to cut Planet Earth some slack on stress issues for the remainder of this year, DY 2. I think that’s terrific. Goddess knows, Planet Earth needs less stress.

What about you, Dr. Pistrum, What’s the difference?

The difference is Ray, I would like to go first on the Round Table, then leave, so I don’t have to be here for the rest of it, sugar, sweetie.

But Rayetta, you are our science expert. If you leave, how shall we know when we are foisting ridiculous hypotheses and theories on to the unsuspecting home audience? What shall we do then, without you, Dr. Pistrum, here to correct our opinions?

Tough Ray. The Ark Druid is correct. Ray’s Round Table is a burlesque. Either I get to go first, and leave, or I quit. Besides, look where Lomo has the camera pointing even now, at Hope.

Er. Lomo! Stop that! Put the camera on Dr. Pistrum. Dr. Pistrum is making an important critique of my Round Table and deserves the courtesy of a camera presence. Anyway, how come the camera is on Hope, anyway, when Dr. Pistrum is spelling? Answer that, Lomo.

Polls show Home Audience like watch Hope adjust. Lomo go by polls.

Dang it! OK Lomo. From now on, you put the camera on the head that’s talking, period. Like right now. Put in on me. Dang it! Sorry sis. I didn’t know Lomo had made an executive decision based on Hope, entirely.

But Ray, sugar. If the Home Audience likes to see more me, Hope. What’s wrong with that?

Never mind that now sweetie. After the show we shall have a meeting. Then, at the meeting we shall get some things straight, regarding Ray’s Round Table methodology. We may need a script, for example. And that dang Lomo needs to put the camera on me, now. Lomo! I aint a gonna tell ye agin!

Dang it! All righty then, looks like Ray’s Round Table is out of time. Watch out for the Wicker Man!
_____

Hey! What about me, Ray, yer bosom companion? What about my opinion? I got an opinion. Plus, I want to introduce my pal, Magnus Magnetico, Necromancer. What about that?

Sorry Crumby. We’re off the air.

Rayetta’s Thoughts on Solstice Day

Another dry norther roared in this morning. I told everyone: Don’t go outside. This is an evil wind that blows no good. For a wonder, everyone stayed inside. That is how evil this wind is, carrying as it does, Christmas shopper pollution.

All of us staying inside though, makes for other problems, often stirred up by Crumby. However, Ray had the genius idea of putting Crumby in charge of the venue. Crumby, spelled and spelled. Eventually, tuckered out, Crumby retired to his orgone box. No harm there.

Ray did venture out early, before the wind got up to its present velocity. Ray just had to have his cinnamon bun. By Ray’s account, his latest cinnamon bun was delicious.

As for me, I have been thinking. Lots of chores need doing here at the CB. Combine that with all the idle hands. Chores match with idle hands. So I now have a list of the chores the idle hands can be applied to. Get to work, you lazy Druids!!!!

No more shopping. Shopping is now become too perilous even for the most hardened shopper. We shall shop no more, until 14 days before our next holiday, Imbolc. But everyone else should shop, especially along Brodie Lane. There are plenty of quality items for sale in those stores. So be patriotic, shop ‘til you drop, and help pay Red’s taxes.

And don’t worry about the traffic. You just have to be patient. Here’s an idea. Pack some soda waters and a light meal. Then you can talk on your cell phones and dine, inside the comfort of your great vehicle, waiting for the light to change, on the way to your favorite store.

Hmmm. What’s this? Magnus Magnetico!

Baby Magnus enjoyed his status as a little ugly bastard foisted on to the sacrificial mall Druids by Bran. That’s because everyone, even Druids, are a little wary of Bran the Blessed. But among those Druids, some were afflicted with Sun God worship. Those secret Sun God Druids resented Magnus. But fortunately for Magnus, those Druids were all cowards. So all Magnus had to watch out for was an occasional mean trick played by those heretical and cowardly Druids. Then too, sometimes those same Druids encouraged the other little orphans and fosterlings to tease Magnus and pick on him. Yet Magnus took it all in stride, diurnally, exacting revenge, nocturnally.

Anon, the thinned out Sun God Druids gathered for a secret meeting. What is thinning us out?, was the topic of the meeting. This thinning of our flock can not be coincidence. Something or someone is smiting us. But those ignoramuses were too ignorant to suspect Magnus. Yes, in their sneaky pride they had forgotten all about cause and effect, so they never suspected little Magnus.

For a boy like Magnus, getting adopted by Druids was pretty cool. That's because the Druids were busy most of the time, bettering themselves. Plus, since those Druids memorized everything, the more the better, they required a boy like Magnus as audience to practice their memorized recitations. So Magnus learned lots from the Druids just by listening.

When Magnus was not listening to the Druids, performing child labor or exacting revenge, he had a little time to wander about those parts, memorizing on his own. Anon,
____

Hold it! I'm worn out. I need a nice nap in my orgone box.

Magnus Magnetico

As almost everyone knows, levitation is a commercially important trick, generally attributed to practitioners of the dark arts. A person that can levitate, can charge admission. Simultaneously, those who can not levitate, for example, practitioners of the missionary art, have long sought to debunk the claims of the dark artiste, the necromancer.

Once upon a time there occurred a time now referenced as the Iron Age. Nobody called it that then, but now some do, call it that. The discovery of iron, that the Iron Age was named for, made levitation a theoretical possibility.

Magnus Magnetico, the necromancer, was the first to employ iron in his necromancy, right after he accidentally discovered that a magnet would attract iron, vertically, even partially suspending the Force of Upup (Ooopoop). Magnus first thought, upon discovering this fact of life, was, I shall be rich, rich beyond my wildest dreams. Everyone shall flock to see me, Magnus, hang in the air, suspended only by an invisible and incomprehensible force or power. I shall charge admission.

But before all that could transpire, Magnus needed to figure some stuff out. Magnus, whose name was not actually, Magnus, or Magnetico either, came upon this plane of this world, an ugly baby; a little, scrawny, nasty, squirmy, wormy bastard, stretching the saying, They’re cute when they’re little. Even so, despite his ugliness, baby Magnus preferred to call attention to himself, howling his head off.

His nose and his bowels run a constant, exclaimed everyone. Plus he never stops that howling. That one should be sacrificed to Gog and Magog, so that we should have better harvests. But when everyone took Baby Magnus off to the sacrificial mall, to sacrifice him, the Druids at the sacrificial mall exclaimed, Nay, we shall not sacrifice this one. The harvests would get worse.

Then everyone that had brought baby Magnus to the mall, cursed Baby Magnus, and they all hollered things like, We don’t want this little bastard. You take him. You Druids need to adopt this hideous baby. Then also, as they all got more and more excited, everyone disclaimed upon the Druids. You Druids are lazy. You don’t do any honest work like we do. You should take this baby. He’s your fault.

Pretty soon everyone got so agitated, the Druids feared that everyone would lay hands upon them. This will not do, muttered all the Druids. So then the Druids smote everyone upon their noggins so that everyone was knocked sillier. Once everyone was knocked sillier, the female Druids, known as Druidesses, picked out all the loudest and most rowdy males, everyone from the crowd, and the male Druids picked out all the same type ladies from the same crowd. Then the Druids herded all those loudmouths into a Wicker Man. Watch this, foretold the Druids. Everyone watched as the loudmouths went up in smoke. Everyone exclaimed, They got what they deserved. Then everyone went home.

Thus the power of the Druids at the sacrificial mall was restored and the crops got better. Meantime, baby Magnus, was hung up inside a burlap bag, suspended in the fork of an Alder, howling his head off. That particular Alder is neat because, as everyone knows, the Alder is the personal tree of Bran the Blessed. And Bran, unlike everyone else, could understand what baby Magnus was howling his fool head off about. Plus, Bran could howl in the same language as Baby Magnus. Soon, Bran, disguised as a tree, combined his howls with the howls of Baby Magnus. The howling was terrible. Even the Druids could not abide that howling for long so that even they cast themselves down upon the earth and filled their ears with dirt. But even so, they could still hear most of the nearby howling.

What are you howling about, Baby Magnus?

Everything!!!!

Fair enough, what if I fixed everything, all except your surpassing ugliness?

Why not make me pretty, too?

Because, pretty is, as pretty does.

All righty then.

So then Bran stuck a carrot up baby Magnus’s ass, stuck a crab apple in his mouth, and stuffed English peas into Magnus’ trills. In two shakes of a lambs tail, Magnus was cured of howling, runny nose, and diarrhea. Moreover, even after Bran extracted all the fruits and vegetables, Magnus, was still cured of those afflictions. But he was still ugly.

There now. You are one of mine, Magnus. Those Druids shall adopt you after all. And you shall one day, despite your ugliness, rise to great heights.

All righty then.

That is how Magnus came to be adopted by the Druids at the sacrificial mall.

A Sanitary Note, Solstice Day, The Ark Druid

Hi everyone. I am the continentally important, Ark Druid.

It is customary, for those reviewing products, like for example, the Galileo Gravitator, to insert a disclaimer in the review, something like,

I have no financial interest or stock in the company that manufactures the Galileo Gravitator, nor do any of my family or friends have such an interest, so far as I am aware.

Which brings up an interesting question. How the heck does the disclaimee possibly know that?

Take Crumby, for example. What if Crumby inserted a disclaimer regarding one of his many product reviews? Of course, Crumby never inserts disclaimers, but what if he did? Would Crumby actually know if he was spelling the truth. Course he would not. Given the incestuous relationship of Das Kapital, these days, that's impossible.

Well, what then, if somebody actually took the trouble to look into Crumby's financial interests, stock holdings, and those of his relatives? What if, say, the Kinglet directed his minions to research Crumby, on the basis of Crumby's disclaimer, or because the Kinglet felt like he did not like Crumby's attitude, or because he had read Crumby's body language. The Kinglet could do that, these days, you know. And then, once the Kinglet's minions felt like Crumby was lying and also speculating, Crumby would wind up in a dingy prison, the sickly light in his cell flashing constantly, 24/7, arhythmically, to the beat of Abba.

Once, Crumby was properly drugged and tortured, Crumby would then have to plead ignorant, true enough in Crumby's case, and throw himself on the mercy of the Kinglet's minions. At which time the Kinglet's minions would surely remind Crumby that, Ignorance is No Excuse!

You must confess, Crumby.

OK. I am entirely responsible for 9/11.

That's why, when reviewing a product, you should never, ever, insert a disclaimer. Because, you just do not, and can not, know if you are lying. That's how it is, these days, DY 2.

Happy Solstice to Everyone, We Both Know and Like

It’s me, Crumby. Ray is too weak to type. Pitiful. So I am acting venue wheel.

Speaking of wheels, the ellipse many of us have just completed, is similar to a wheel. How’s that you might fairly ask? Well, once I was the proud owner of a customized bicycle. That bicycle was named, Antelope. That’s because the handle bars pointed straight up. One day, Antelope and me went over a cliff. Antelope landed on his front wheel. I landed on my noggin, knocking the bejesus out of myself. For days after that event I felt four inches shorter. Yet, poor Antelope’s front wheel was bent from round to ellipse. Fortunately, Antelope was customized, no front fender. So after getting most of Antelope’s spokes sort of fixed, we could still go along at a fair pace. Only we bobbed.

There go Antelope and Crumby, bob, bob, bobbing along. Just like the red, red Robin, and just like, Planet Earth.
_____

Famous Birds of the Polaris or Polar Bear Solstice

Speaking of the red, red Robin, Did you know that the Robin (Erithacus rubecula) is about as red as our Robin (Turdus migratorius), on the breast. Did you also know that my faithful servant, Lleu Llaw Guffes, the Lion of the Steady Hand, was a Robin during his Sun God Trainee days?

Apparently, the Sun God Trainees of those times did not wimp out during the solstice in contrast to the current crop. Off Lleu Llaw went, into the wood lot, hunting the Wren (Troglodytes troglodytes), his own father, maybe, Bran. With his steady hand, Lleu slung at Bran, wounding him outright. Then, espying that Bran was not dead, Lleu Llaw clutched Bran to his bosoms, surmising to smother the old bird, a common trick still employed by those seeking to smother birds. Yet Bran’s blood got smeared on Lleu’s breast. Then that blood, dried to orange. That’s why, to this day, all those type Robins have orange breasts.

Yet many wonder, Who Killed Cock Robin? Easy that!!!!
_____

This morning, as is often my preference, I was out early, espying along the ecliptic. Preparatory to actually going outside, I sneakily fetched forth Rayetta’s fancy camera, while the learned yet lovely Druidess was still abed, snoozing away. I thought to myself, Crumby, you should take a picture of bloody Mars, while it is so bright. Yet I soon espied that the battery in the camera was nearly dead as indicated by the red charge light. Plus, I could not, for the life of me, remember how to dim the monitor. Dern it!

So then I had to sneak back into the house and put Rayetta’s camera back where I got it from in the first place. After putting it back exactly like it was before, to the mm, I fetched forth my own trusty camera.

The electropictoid of Mars, next door, is an enhanced representation of the electropictoid I took of Mars, outdoors. I had to spiff up that electropictoid quiet a bit in PP, so everyone could espy the polar ice cap, which is not visible on the original.

So! DY 1 is ended. Off we go on another perilous journey, DY 2. Who knows who shall survive? Who knows the secrets of the unhewn dolmen?

Ray's Thought for the Day - The Solstice is Tomorrow - I am near my feeblest.

Yep. Feeble. I better let my bosom companion, Crumby, take over. Crumby waxes nearly as dark and sinister as he ever gets. Take over, bosom companion.

All righty then. Thank ye Ray, my feeble bosom companion. Yes. I am fairly dark and sinister these days. Here I am, huddled in the laboratory, surrounded by the comforting stygian darkness only lit up by the eerie light of the computer monitor plus a couple of electric light bulbs. Anon, I shall rig up the Galileo Gravitator. Then, once it's working normally, I shall switch off the other appliances.

As you may know, the Galileo Gravitator comes supplied with four heavenly bodies. Of these four, out and away the most dark and sinister, at least by connotation, is the Saturn heavenly body, that we address as Bran Bendigeidfran, also known as the Blessed, or original Talking Head. Once I have the Galileo Gravitator rigged up, I shall sit with it in the dark here in the laboratory with the interesting shade dropped, and commune with Bran, the rest of the day.

Bran is the inspiration for all the dark and sinister forces in this part of the universe. He is the prototype for all the hideous, yet kindly, giants, ogres, hump backs, black men, green men, etc., that serve the WG, ineptly. But it is the thought, that counts.

Unbeknownst to many, Raisin Bran was named after Bran. The delicious cereal, Raisin Bran, fourth in importance on my diet after Oatmeal, Grape Nuts, and Puffins, reflects on Bran’s long association with cereal grains in his historic capacity as consort of the WG in her several horticultural iterations. Bran Muffins are also named after Bran. We all know what those muffins can do.

Time passes.

OK. The Galileo Gravitator is working perfectly. Let’s see if I can tune in Bran. Come in Talking Head. Come in Talking Head. Come in Talking Head. Come in Talking Head.

This is the Talking Head. Who’s this?

This is Crumby Ovate, a Druid in Service to the WG. I am located at Red’s Good vs. Evil Cow Barn on Planet Earth. Three big coyote yips, for the dark and sinister. I am like, your biggest fan, Bran Bendigeidfran. And I was wondering, I am trying to get a job working for Trwch Trwyth. You know, the great pig with the insanely valuable hairs that is four times as big as a double wide. Trouble is, I have used up my paltry travel budget for this year, so I can’t go visit with Trwch Trwyth again. Plus, according to everyone I know and respect, like Ray, my bosom companion, and his sister, Dr. Pistrum, Trwch Trwyth, due to his porcine nature, probably can’t read. That surprises me, because, as you yourself undoubtedly know, he can talk, speaking both Welsh and English passably. Naturally, on account of his bilingual-ality I assumed he could read, too. Anyway, turns out he can’t read. So that proposal I sent to him was probably a waste of my time. Thus,I was wondering if you could maybe intercede with Twrch Trwyth on my behalf. Like maybe you could read him my proposal.

Sorry Crumby, I can’t read either.

You can’t!!!!

No, reading came after my hay day. I just memorize everything. Sorry.

Uh! OK. No problem. Easy solution. I’ll just read my proposal to you, you can memorize it, then pass it along to Twrch Twryth. How’s that?

I shall be happy to do that. Will Sunday be time enough fer me to commune with the Mightiest Swine? Tomorrow’s a holiday.

Sure sir. Sunday would be great. Sunday would be like four fifties of big coyote yips. I knew I could count on you, the great, the most magnificent, Bran Bendigeidfran, Talking Head. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you. Praise also the WG, with great Praise!

How is the WG, Crumby?

She’s fine. She may fixing to exterminate lots of the vermin in these parts. So that’s good too.

That’s not what I heard, Crumby. I heard She may light out all together, due to the vermin problem.

Alas. I reckon that is possible. But it may work out to the same difference. We get what we deserve.

Yes, we do. All righty then Crumby, I am pretty busy, so spell your proposal audibly, so I can memorize it.

All righty then!!!! Here we go!

Ray’s Thought for the Day - The Polaris or Polar Bear Solstice Nonce, Approaches Anon

For Druids, perhaps the most important holiday of the year is the Polaris or Polar Bear Solstice. On this particular solstice, these parts get less light than any other day. The dark and sinister powers have little to fear from Ogma’s fickle gaze during the solstice. Yes. The solstice is a good time for hatching out dark and sinister eggs, that some call plots. Plots, dark and sinister, hatched from serpent eggs. Who shall carry the egg across the water?

In days past, a good while back, our ancestors, huddled together inside miserable hovels. To pass the time they engaged in interesting conversations. The most important topic was, Shall the turnips last ‘til spring? Or, shall we soon espy the very bottom of the bin?

Yet withal there was much merriment. Everyone speculated, Shall we get a new king, or shall the WG stick with this one, for another year. Interestingly, in those days, the potential for survival of the kingship was directly related to the abundance of turnips.

Merry festivities, simulating the passing of the old king, and the arrival of a new, virile king, were played out in the wood lots. Often, snow depth permitting, the inmates of several miserable hovels would get together. Then, all would merrily romp around the wood lot hoping to espy a little king, or kinglet, Regulus satrapa. If they espied a kinglet, perhaps a regime change, portended.

Yet, even in those happy times, the solstice also indicated, unbeknownst to many, that our tiny globe had, from the point of view of some, made another circuit through the perilous depths of outer space. News of that perilous journey was long kept secret from the masses, to prevent panic.

Anon, this solstice shall pass, the powers of the dark and sinister shall fade from memory. Then, Ogma Sunface shall wax mightily. And the Sun God trainees, for example, me, Ray, shall bask in the glow.

Praise the Goddess!

Ray's Thought for the Day - The Humble Draft Donkey

Yesterday, while performing donkey-like work, I thought to myself, Ray, you have much in common with the donkey, or burro, or ass. Here I am. Tamed to the harness, no spirited kicking of heels, no happy braying, just steady plodding, a great burden behind me.

Now, this morning, as me and the other donkeys arise for another day's work, I spell, Donkeys of the World, Unite! We need a four hour day with full benefits, plus some linament.

Hold it! I may have to get together with my bosom companion, Crumby. We could do a special reworking of Treasure of the Sierra Madre, from the point of view of the burros. As someone once spelled, though, the real treasure of the Sierra Madre is the birds. So besides the talking burros, we also need to work some valuable talking birds into our version. Which birds talk? Easy that, parrots talk.

Right. All the donkey parts shall be played by donkeys, and all the human parts shall be played by parrots. Then too, the main drawback to that original movie was that the Goddess did not get involved until the very end. We need to find a beautiful lady parrot to play the expanded role of the WG in our version.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Today’s Science News Briefs

Abstracted from today’s daily are these twain gems: 1) If our little globe passes too close to a black hole, our globe’s ozone shall be bombarded into submission. Then with no ozone to protect US, we shall be sterilized. 2) I want to be a good steward of my land, but I can’t ignore the price of corn.

Of the twain science articles, the former, featuring the usual, we are all fixing to die, astronomical commentary, conjures a remote threat. The latter, 2), conjures a threat, that is far less remote. All that fertilizer running off into the Gulf of Mexico is creating a dead zone, where nothing can live.

So near, yet so far away. Fortunately, no Americanos actually dwell on the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico where the oxygen poor dead zone is rapidly expanding, growing bigger, smothering all sea life, including our tunicate and/or echinoderm cousins. That’s why it is important that most Americanos are free to deny our long kinship with the tunicates and/or echinoderms. If we considered the tunicates and/or echinoderms, relatives, we might have to actually do something to save them from getting smothered.

Additionally, most Americanos are also free to deny the existence of the Dead Zone. Or, if there is a Dead Zone, it is not our fault. Or, if it our fault, Jesus will fix it, but only if it really needs fixing. After all, the Dead Zone may just be God’s will, if it really exists. Then too, there’s the price of corn.

Potential Safety Topic, Environmental Hazard - Buffets

Many, especially this time of the year, are exposed to buffets. Yes. Even a solitary, hermit-like person such as me, Crumby, is sometimes required to participate in these dangerous events, generally against my will.

Crumby! You have to go to this one, this one and this one. You may skip this one, but I would really like for you to go to this one too. There shall be free food and treats.

From an ovational standpoint, it’s easy for me to foresee what shall happen at these buffets. I shall get sick. One or another of them shall make me, sick. That’s assuming the Wicker Man does not get me on the way to the buffet.

Once I dodge the Wicker Man, I notice the buffets are predictably alike. Everyone stands around in a hot house or lobby. All the people are close together. Too close together. Many of the people want to touch me, or they bump me, supposedly accidentally. Always, at least one of the persons present has a bunch of contagious germs. Anon, those contagious germs go airborne, heading straight up my trills. That’s why trimming your nose hairs this time of year is a bad idea. Those nose hairs may filter out some of the larger contagious germs. But only if left un-barbered.

Yepper, once all the contagious germs are airborne, they either go up my trills or settle out on the buffet. So essentially, there is no way to avoid those contagious germs. Besides the common influenza type germs, there may be food poisoning germs in the food. Plus, no telling, there could be every germ imaginable, a veritable germ orgy, all those libidinous germs cavorting on the luke-warm food. Given that sad fact of life, a person may catch cold, get food poisoning, or worse, simultaneously.

There’s no telling how many innocent Americanos are killed by buffets every year. The Wicker Man gets them as they go to and fro. The germs get them at the buffet. Some of them bust a gut, over-indulging. The toll must be high, yet no statistics are kept.

No statistics are kept. That’s because Americanos are retarded when it comes to threat analysis. Consequently, the threat publicity emphasizes remote, unlikely threats, while ignoring significant threats, like buffets. For example, how many Americanos figure a terrorist is fixing to get them, versus a buffet.

But the lure of free food and a free libation or two are powerful supposedly free lures. Yet there may be a hidden price. Take this Mallow Scrub Hairstreak for example. It went to a free buffet. And look what happened.

Rayetta’s Birds

We always like to post firsts on the venue, no matter. In that spirit, here is my first Raw electropictoid (converted to JPG) of one of the CB Northern Mockingbirds. I was using the 70-300mm which I am still having a hard time, hand holding. Yet this is pretty sharp, on the mocker parts not concealed by grape vines or over exposed.

Crumby has been shooting up a storm with his restored C 5060. Some may remember that Crumby was attacked by a tree cricket abiding in the cat and two kittens night light. Fortuitously, we were able to replace the cat and two kittens night light with this one. No tree cricket habitat here.

Then there’s the reflection on the toaster oven.

We interrupt the regularly scheduled program, Ray’s Round Table, with An Important Message from the Ark Druid

Hello everyone. I am the Ark Druid. I am more important than the rest of the Druids. They all read me, when I spell. That’s because I am older than all of them and I have done more important stuff. They act locally. I act continentally.

Personally, I feel like Ray’s Round Table is a waste of time. Here’s why. Ray started the Round Table off with the idea of satirizing TV news. Fine and dandy. Those shows are mostly gossip, staged by the rulers to fire the opinions of the too leisured, yet hopelessly ignorant. So perhaps, those TV shows deserve some satire. Yet to satirize those shows takes up valuable time that should be devoted to Praising the Goddess. Plus, those shows are so vulgar, they may, generally spelling, be immune to satire.

Here’s an example topic featured recently on most of those shows: Mitt the Mormon’s opinion on, Are Jesus and Satan brothers? That topic is satire immune. Here’s why. The genesis of the topic was Mike the Baptist setting a theological trap for Mitt the Mormon, a seemingly demographically safe trap, given that, among the Mammonite electorate, Baptist voters outnumber Mormon voters. But, Mike the Baptist forgot that among the Mammonite electorate, a great many are only in it for the money. So an abstruse theological topic like, Are Jesus and Satan brothers?, is of no interest to those many. Those are the facts of the matter, so that topic is beneath satire as too ignorant.

Now, below, I see that Ray has resorted to the lowest form of satire, burlesque. How much time did Ray waste, working up this burlesque? How much time did he spend watching those awful TV news programs, acquiring the requisite background material for his burlesque? Plus, Ray has involved three additional Druids in his burlesque, wasting their time too, and my time.

That’s my opinion, Praise the Goddess! If you want news, watch the WG. Now though. Go ahead. Watch Ray’s Round Table. But remember my spell as you watch.

Ray’s Round Table

Which of the Republican Kinglet Candidates Would You Most Like to See Under the Rear Wheels of a Bus? Is There Too Much Competition?

For me, Ray Pistrum, Sun God Trainee, there is too much competition. Leaving out Dr. Paul, they are all surpassing ignoramuses and we should not miss any of them that got run over by a bus. But let’s ask our regular Ray’s Round Table panel members, their opinions.

As usual, in the best tradition of Media Liberal TV, and Media Conservative TV, all my guests, plus me, have incestuous relationships. Today’s regular Round Table guests are; Ms. Hope Remains, Ace Reporter, Druid News Service; Dr. Rayetta Pistrum, the Lovely Druidess Rayetta; and my bosom companion, Mr. Crumby Ovate.

Ms. Remains, you have hands on experience with all the Republican Kinglet candidates. Which one would you most like to espy under the rear wheels of a bus?

Gracious sakes Ray! I’m just like you. All of them. I just don’t want to actually espy them under the rear wheels of the bus. Yuck! Yuck! Yikes! I might get sick on TV and ruin my outfit. Then, after I got sick all over myself on live TV, the DNS might fire me.

OK. That’s two votes for all of ‘em. What’s your opinion, Dr. Pistrum?

Hmmm. I wonder. I wonder Ray, if this low satire we are indulging in, turns off potential youthful voters, or worse, ups the pity turnout. What if, in the unlikely event that a potential youthful voter actually read this spell, that potential youthful voter felt sorry for those Republican Kinglet candidates, then, voted for one of them, out of sympathy. Hmmm. Well, on that basis, I should also vote, all of them. That way, even if a potential young voter felt sorry for one of them and actually voted, whoever that candidate is (was), benefitting from the pity vote, would have already been run over the bus.

Great. That’s three to Crumby. Crumby, what’s your opinion?

I have a question, Ray.

What?

Mrs. Clinton is a Republican, or close enough. Shouldn’t Mrs. Clinton get run over by the bus, too?

Certainly not, Crumby. Mrs. Clinton may be a Republican, or close enough, but she is still a lady, or close enough. Er. But maybe we need the ladies input here since our gentlemanly persuasions, or lack thereof, might bias the twain of us. Ms. Remains, Dr. Pistrum can you help us out here?

You go first, Rayetta. I need to fix something personal.

Course you do. And while you are fixing, Lomo, put the camera on me. There, that’s better. Ahem. Are we talking the same bus? Because if we are, I vote no. Mrs. Clinton should not get run over by the same bus as those Bozos. No. Mrs. Clinton needs to get run over by her own bus.

All righty. I’m all fixed. What was the question? Oh my goodness! Stop glaring at me Rayetta. Ray, your sister is glaring at me.

Uh. All righty then, Hope, Rayetta? The question we are discussing is, Should Mrs. Clinton get run over by her own bus?

Land sakes Ray. How am I supposed to know that? I thought we were discussing those goose goosing Republicans.

Er. Hope, darling, perhaps you may have had a slight attention lapse. The discussion has moved on to Mrs. Clinton, while you were fixing yourself.

Well Ray. You should have said so in the first place. Now that I’m all fixed, you shall just have to catch me up.

Yeah but Ray, it’s almost the end of the program, and I, your bosom companion, should get to give my opinion on something or other. All I got to do so far was ask a question. It aint fair.

Hmmm. Yes Ray. You need to ask Crumby his opinion. I bet Crumby’s opinion precisely coincides with my opinion.

Uh! All righty then. Guess what? Ray’s Round Table has timed out, Praise the Goddess. Next week, whatever the topic may be, rest assured home viewers that my regular guests shall stay on task. Yepper. Next week we shall have a script.

_____

Pssst. Lomo. Was that the Ark Druid?

Ark Druid pre-empt, Ray.

Uh oh.

Rayetta’s Landscapes

Weeks ago, I happened to be standing on the porch when Ogma arose. So I took this picture. It did not turn out as I anticipated. I thought, when I took the picture, that the sky in the background would be red, and the foreground would not be red. At least not this red. So all the red somehow got suffused into the vegetation.

Ray’s Rainfall Update - Day 359, DY 1

Mercy! The anticipation is killing me. Shall we make a 50" in DY 1, or fall short? The new total is 49.28" + 0.37" = 49.65". Mercy! So near, yet so far.

Crumby! What brings my bosom companion to the venue.

I need your opinion, Ray.

I am full of those, Crumby. Which one would you like to know all about?

The one on this. This is my draft application letter to Twrch Twryth.

Lemme see then, Crumby.

____

Dear Sir:

Are those hair rustlers still pestering you? If so, you need to hire me! Now that I have my trusty camera fixed, if you hire me, I shall take pictures of those hair rustlers. Then, as part of my invaluable service, I shall turn those pictures over to the proper authorities. Yes. My pictures shall indicate to the proper authorities, in technicolor, those rustlers swiping your hairs, red handed. Then those hair rustlers shall be rounded up. Once rounded up, they shall be tortured mercilessly. After the merciless torture, the surviving rustlers shall be hung from light poles out on the freeway. As happy motorists creep along the freeway in their great vehicles, they shall espy new electric billboards describing in graphic detail the hideous crimes of those hair rustlers. Big blinking arrows on the electric billboards shall then light up, directing the happy motorists to gaze upon those same hair rustlers, dangling with stretched necks, from the light poles. As you may see for yourself, Sir, my plan, shall not only get shut of the extant hair rustlers, but shall also act as a deterrent to future hair rustlers.

Now, Sir, you may be wondering, What does Crumby Ovate expect in compensation for this invaluable service? Easy that, all I require in return is a trade monopoly on your valuable hairs. That’s right. Plus I have given this part of my plan or proposal a bunch of serious thought. Since I know you probably would not want me around all the time, begging to clip some hairs off, my plan emphasizes recovery of just those hairs recently scratched off. Yes. I am aware Sir, that you, in common with all the Sus scrofa, enjoy a good scratch on your favorite scratching post. Once you have scratched yourself to your heart’s content, I shall discretely remove those hairs from the scratching post.

That’s it. Only the twain of us, Sir, you and me, shall know that the vended hairs are somewhat scratched off and therefore, not quite virginal. But since only the twain of us are in the know, none, except us twain, shall be the wiser. I shall then vend those hairs, and those hairs only, on to the ignorant public.

If you have any questions or require more information, please contact me at:

Red’s Good Vs. Evil Cow Barn
P.O. Box 4444
Austink, ROT 44444

Yours truly,

Crumby
_____

So, what’s your opinion, Ray?

My opinion is, Crumby, You figure this pig can read?

Uh! Dern it Ray. Course he can. He can talk. That means he can read too, maybe.

Ray's Rainfall Update

The day is 357. The year is DY 1. A tiny sphere is whirling about. Its orbit is in the general shape of an ellipse. We Druids keep track of the progress our tiny sphere is making. Why do we keep track on the progress of a tiny sphere or globe whirling around on an elliptical pathway when the tiny sphere follows that same general elliptical pathway every year? Easy that, nerves. Druids are less nervous if we know where we are.

What if, instead of having an atmosphere with rain clouds popping up hither and yon, all the rain clouds were in outer space? If reality was that way, then our tiny globe, hustling along its ellipse, would have to intersect the rain clouds in outer space to get any rain. Boy howdy! That would give the astronomers and meteorologists something to do.

Yes. We have espied some rain clouds. If those rain clouds stay put relative to our current elliptical path, long enough for Upup (Ooopoop) to grab a hold of them, we shall get some rain. Yet we have to watch out. The power of Upup is everywhere. So if we don't watch out, the Power of Upup on Venus may get our rain clouds.

OK everyone. We need to all pray to Upup. Great Power of Upup on Earth, please suck up those rain clouds. Please, please.

Whew! That would be an awful reality. Really scary! Imagine, meterologists leading global prayers on TV.

Back to this reality. The new total is, 48.89" + 0.39" = 49.28". Praise the Goddess! Shall we make 50" before Polar Bear Solstice? Mercy!

At last, I have a camera again!!!!

Yep. UPS delivered my fixed C 5060 WZ today. Yep. It arrived, despite the inclimate weather. The treacherous mode dial module seems to be entirely fixed. In fact, knock on wood, it seems to be working better than it did brand new. That mode dial module was always treacherous, even brand new. But Olympus, knock on wood, has fixed it.

OK. It's miserable outside. So I had to take an indoor picture to test out the restored C 5060 WZ. Here that picture is. It's Rayetta's Zuikos lined up. The littlest Zuiko is, alas, upside down. Despite that, they are, from left to right, the 35mm, the 14-45mm, the 40-150mm and the 70-300mm. There they are.

There are several interesting things about this picture. First, having entirely forgotten how to do a bunch of necessary stuff in camera, I did quite a bit of PP to get the WB sanitized. Then too, I had to desharpen. But that baloney aside, second, notice that the littler lenses are made in China, while the bigger lenses are made in Japan. Why is that? Beats me. Third, this electropictoid was shot inside, in the laboratory, on a dark day, with one of the three overhead lights out, with the shade pulled plumb up (I need to take a picture of that shade since it is also interesting). Fourth, I used a tripod, no flash. I also employed the handy RM-2 electron squirter that came with the C 5060 WZ and was included in the original deal as a free accessory.

All that spelled out, I am very happy to have my camera again and I shall make every effort to take good care of it. Thanks Olympus for fixing my camera even though you charged me more than you said you were fixing to charge me the first time we discussed the charge over the phone. But hey, that's how capitalism works.

Crumby!

What, bosom companion?

Be sure to check and see if the dang picture does right before you exit the venue.

All righty then, Ray. I shall check on that, at this very nonce. Er. It seems to be working normally, Ray. All righty, it is working normally. Now I need to go eat my soup.

Ray’s Thought for the Day - The Diurnal Pattern is Crazy

I pity the poor immigrants to these parts. There they all are, trooping off the Greyhound. There they stand, huddled together,waiting patiently in the cold drizzle. Patiently waiting for a battered suitcase.

Where’s my battered suitcase? It was supposed to be on this bus, same as me.

Sorry young lady. Your battered suitcase is apparently not on this bus. It may arrive on the next bus.

But I shall freeze before then. I have only this scanty summer outfit. Boo-hoo-hoo.

Yepper. Sad. Plus, it is super hard even for hardened, lifer inmates of these parts to figure out what to wear. Naturally, a lifer inmate such as me expects cold mornings and hot afternoons. Yet lately, the mornings are hot. Then by afternoon, frozen horns are dropping off Billy Goats. It’s crazy. Go to bed cold, wake up hot.

Then this morning, it is cold again. We are talking 20, maybe 30 degree temperature swings in a very short while, back and forth, in a very short while. Go to bed hot, wake up cold. This craziness can’t be good for the plants. What’s a tree to do, sap wise?

At least this latest rapid shift in the pattern brought in a little rain last night. Praise the Goddess! Perhaps, with this little rain event we shall surpass the much anticipated 50" total before the Polar Bear Solstice and the commencement of DY 2. I shall check the gauge this evening to espy about all that.

How easy is it, for a Heathen, to tell a Christian, from a Muslim, from a Jew, (CMJs)?

Good Goddess! It's impossible. They all look just alike. So maybe, the distinction is not important. That's it. Not important. All that's important is, they shall be at it, to the end. Oh my!

But what I really wanted to discuss this evening is the Sci-Fi channel miniseries, Tin Man. Actually, I don't want to discuss Tin Man, I just want to put a reminder note here about my favorite part.

My favorite part of Tin Man is when the monkeys fly off of the bosoms. That was too cool, the most interesting event I have ever observed on TV. Plus, the monkeys flew off of the bosoms, twice. I need to tape those two parts where the monkeys fly off the bosoms. Once I have that on tape, I shall never want for interesting entertainment again, ever.

Whoever thought that up, monkey tatoos that actually metamorphose into real live flying monkeys that fly off bosoms, is a true genius. Congratulations! I think, whoever you are, that you are a true genius, right up there with the other true genuises.

Come to think of it, you are above the rest of the true genuises, in a class all by yourself. In fact, as I sit here in the laboratory, I surmise that you are the only true genuis.

Consequently, I don't want to know who you are, or anything about you. That is because, nothing could ever top monkeys flying off bosoms. I want to remember you always for that and nothing else.

Ray's Thought for the Day - How close did US come to Fatherland Security?

You know, that debate had to have taken place, probably deep inside one of Chitlin’s secret locations. Yes. Deep inside a secret recess of that secret location, the Mammonite Chieftains debated, Homeland versus Fatherland, security. Yet, in the end, as many of US know, Homeland carried the day and became the spell of our newest small government department, Homeland Security.

Yet, despite Homeland Security, I am still free to speculate on why Homeland won out over Fatherland. The advantages of Fatherland are obvious. Fatherland references The Father, the most obvious. Read into that what you will.

The ideological trickle down from having The Father in charge jives nicely with the world view of many; Christians, Muslims and Jews, oh my. Then there are all those historical sit-coms that featured fathers, providing security, like Father Knows Best. Seems like Fatherland should have been a shoo-in.

Yet, as some of US know, Homeland won out. Why is that? Perhaps some of the Mammonite Chieftains surmised,

Duh, was not their once a Fatherland of old that afflicted US?

Then too, those Mammonite Chieftains probably considered the potential effect Fatherland Security might have on the feminists. The outcry from those feminists shall be too squeaky. All those squeaky little voices shall be very annoying. Better go with Homeland to avoid all that squeaking.

Crumby - Intrepid Flapper Seeker

Flapper!

There is no such thing as a minor plumbing emergency. That’s because if you ignore a minor plumbing emergency, it can wind up costing you millions. Pretty soon, you can’t pay your water bill. Then, the water bill responsible party cuts your water off. After you have no water, anything bad can and will happen. Pretty soon you are evicted. A futile attempt to steal bread for your starving wives, children and livestock winds you up in jail. In jail you are mercilessly assaulted by vicious guards and other inmates. Inmates! Why are they spelled, inmates? Mercy!

That’s why, I, Crumby, was sent off into the terrible ass fault wilderness to round up a new flapper for the Ladies’ Comfort Station toilet tank. Yet I, Crumby, am a poor choice for that duty as assigned, going off into the terrible ass fault wilderness to round up a new flapper.

Turns out, all flappers are not the same, not by a long shot. So picking out the correct flapper may be impossible if you fail to closely inspect your defective flapper prior to setting off into the terrible wilderness.

It is Saturday. Brodie Lane is impassable. Home Depot is situated on Brodie Lane. Wrong flapper. Back to Home Depot. Brodie Lane is impassable. Refund eventually acquired. No proper flapper available. They don’t even vend my dern flapper. Yet at least I didn’t go berserk, get arrested and wind up mercilessly assaulted by vicious guards and other inmates. Inmates! Why are they spelled, inmates? Mercy!

What I need is a Crane flapper that fits older Crane toilets. Turns out, two sites vend those on EBAY. Somehow though, ordering flappers over the internet doesn’t seem wise or timely. What am I to do?

I know. I bet Crump has my flapper. Crump has saved me from jail before. I bet Crump can save me again. Ha! Look at that. Crump is open at 8 AM, Sunday morning. Praise the Goddess!

For a wonder, the roads that belong to the Wicker Man between the CB and Crump were passable at the time I set out, early, so I would be the first, or among the first, customer at Crump. Yet, even so, the journey was long and perilous.

I need three flappers that fit older Crane toilets.

Follow me Mr. Ovate. Here you go, Mr. Ovate.

Praise the Goddesss!!!!

My new flapper fits perfectly. Plus I have two spares. Now, there is one less intermittent disturbing noise emanating from the Ladies’ Comfort Station. And, I have escaped jail, again. Why are they spelled, inmates? Mercy!

Ray’s Round Table # 10 - Put Off in Solidarity with the Writer’s Strike

Last weeks episode of Ray's Round Table was actually # 9. Got to change that on the venue. There we go.

OK. In solidarity with the writers’ strike we are not going to spell out Ray’s Round Table this week. Instead, Nancy the Goddess of Practical Jokes, and Proprietor of the Druid Joke Factory, has a new product ready for the big holiday sales season. So here’s Nancy with:

Infomercial - The Many Potential Advantages of Your Reversible Kilt

Hello home viewers. I am Nancy, the Goddess of Practical Jokes, and Proprietor of the Druid Joke Factory. I am also in charge of QC at the joke factory. My job is to personally inspect all our goods before those goods are vended to you, the ignorant consumer. Now don’t get me wrong, or get your hackles up for being ignorant. Ignorance is not your fault. You can’t help being ignorant when it comes to knowing something or other about all those products out there you want for yourself. Plus, almost all the other vendors purposely mislead you about their products. So you are not only ignorant, as soon as you purchase a product from one of those other vendors, you are also a fool.

That being said, you shall not be fooled into making a foolish purchase from the Druid Joke Factory, ever. No. Any product you get from the Druidry shall be top notch. Plus, if you get all your products from us, you won’t get fooled again, ever. Take for example our line up of Reversible Kilts. All our reversible kilts are made from genuine Americano sheep imported from Australia. Only those sheep with the finest quality wool get sheared, just in the nick of time when the wool is most prime, right at the Joke Factory. Uh. The rest of the sheep become canned mutton. But never mind that, ignorant home viewers.

Now home viewers, just to show that I am not pulling the wool over your eyes, we are fixing to shear a sheep. Then, we shall show you almost the entire sheep to wool fabrication process, right here, right now.

Juan. Are you ready to demonstrate for the ignorant home viewers how we shear a sheep?

Si! Listo!

Baaaaaaaaaah!

Look at that, ignorant home viewers. Juan has sheared that sheep in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Now that sheep shall be nice and cool. A good thing too, because it is really hot in these parts today. Look how nice and cool that sheep is. Juan, take that sheep inside so it won’t catch cold.

Si, senora.

Gimme that wool first , Juan.

Si.

Now I am off to the combing area. Did you know, ignorant home viewers, that wool is a fire retardant? Well it is, so this wool is highly unlikely to spontaneously combust during this next process I am about to show you.

Juanita, are you ready to comb this wool?

Si! Listo!

There now, Juanita has combed the wool lickety split. Gimme that combed wool, Juanita.

Si, senora.

Now we are off to spin the wool.

Juanito, are you ready to spin the wool?

Si! Listo!

Look at that little fellow go. No other six year old can spin wool like that anywhere. Juanito is the globe’s quickest wool spinner. Is the wool spun yet, Juanito?

Si! Listo!

Gimme that.

Si.

Now we are off to the dyeing vats. We shall dye this wool into a nice kilt pattern. The dyeing process is the only part of the operation I can’t show you, ignorant home viewers. That’s because the dyeing vat room may be encumbered by illegal drug use.

Here I am at the door to the secret dyeing room. Knock, knock.

Hello Antonia. Dye this up for me, pronto.

Si, senora.

Shut the door.

Si.

Now we just have to wait a second or two. Did you know, ignorant home viewers, that there are lots of different kinds of sheep? Yes. Sheep are everywhere, but they are not the same sheep everywhere. No. Those sheep vary from parts to parts. Because the sheep vary, the wool on one particular sheep, hold it, here’s Antonia. Is it ready, Antonia?

Si! Listo!

Gimme that. And shut the door.

Si.

All righty then. Now we are off to knit the sheared, combed, spun and dyed wool into a kilt. I can show you that part of the process, maybe. Here we go.

Maria, knit this up for me right quick.

Si. Senora.

Look at Maria knit that kilt up. Maria, is the world’s quickest child knitter. Plus she has never dropped a stitch. There now. She’s all done. How about that, ignorant home viewers?

Gimme that, Maria.

Si.

OK. What we have here is half a reversible kilt. Now all we have to do is stitch this to the other half. Fortuitously, I have a number of reversible kilts already stitched together and ready to be modeled for you ignorant home viewers. Now we are off to the modeling room.

Here we are. Hello, Mary. Hello Karl.

Hi Nancy!

Home viewers, meet today’s models. These twain models are, Mary the Virgin and Karl the Tracker Druid. Both have taken time out from their regular jobs to model reversible kilts just for you.

First here’s Mary. Mary, pretend you are at important conference. Suddenly you spill your hot chocoate all over the front of your kilt. What shall you do?

Well, Nancy, that’s easy. I shall just reverse my kilt.

Watch carefully, ignorant home audience as Mary reverses her kilt. See! Did you see that? Mary’s kilt has a special quick release tab that allows Mary to reverse her kilt in a public place so quickly that nobody notices, for the blink of an eye, that she is totally naked from the waist down How about that?

Now Karl. You are in a life or death situation. You have tracked the enemy to their secret hideout. Yet those cruel enemies have discovered you. What shall you do to save yourself?

Look at that home audience. Karl has instantaneously reversed his kilt to match the kilts of his hideous, cruel enemies. Now, all those ignoramuses think Karl is one of them. Ha!

Just imagine, ignorant home viewers, all the other uses for my reversible kilts you could think up by yourselves. That’s right the potential uses are endless. Plus if you purchase a dozen different reversible kilts, you shall blend in anywhere, anytime. You shall always fit in, in a reversible kilt.

Then, once you have purchased your reversible kilts, all you need for packing all your reversible kilts around is our patented reversible kilt back pack which is also reversible. How about that? And for a limited time, if you purchase a dozen different reversible kilts, I shall throw in a reversible kilt back pack, free of charge. How about that?

Plus that’s not all you get. Just in case you get into a little trouble the reversible kilts can’t handle, sewn inside a secret reversible kilt backpack pocket is a genuine, guaranteed authentic, saint’s bone or bone fragment. Knowing that bone is with you, shall guarantee that extra tidbit of security in any situation, anywhere.

So you get a dozen reversible kilts, the reversible kilt backpack and a saint’s bone sewn into a secret pocket inside the reversible kilt backpack, all for the one time low price of a tousand or maybe two tousand drachmas depending on the current exchange rate. How about that?

Send cash to:

Nancy, Goddess of Practical Jokes
Druid Joke Factory
4 Cowgirl Road,
Austink, ROT 44444

Testimonials to the Power of Upup (Oooopoop)

Ha! None of the mass quantities of dumbasses have thought that Gravity was an important Hermaphroditic Deity except me. No. Instead they have thought of a bunch of nonsense on the topic, plus one poem. So I am home free. Pretty soon, the various Druid synods shall approve my new deity, Upup. Then, once I get Upup approved by Badgemagus and Nancy, I shall be that much further along as the only viable Sun God Trainee extant, anywhere.

Now I need a testimonial to my great achievement. Where's Crumby?

Here he is. Crumby, I need a testimonial, asap.

_____

Crumby's Testimonial

OK. Once upon a time I, Crumby Ovate, aspired to great heights. Up and up and on up I headed. Higher and higher I headed out and up. Many exclaimed, Crumby, come on down from there, you are likely to fall and bust your noggin. On upward I climbed. The trip up was long and perilous. I was like to lose my balance. I was weary. The wearier I waxed, the more likely I was to lose my balance and topple on off my great height. Up, up, up.

Anon, I was up pretty high up. Then Upup spake. Crumby, if you don't get down from there of your own volition I shall cast you down, constantly accelerating you at 9.8m/sec, squared.

Mercy! I cried. I shall climb on down then. Praise be to Upup!
______

That's it, Crumby? That's your testimonial?

Yepper Ray, a true testimonial that actually happened just like that.

Well, all righty then fer ye, Crumby Ovate. Er. I know, I shall get a testimonial from my beautiful girlfriend, Olwen White Track, Moon Goddess. Olwen's testimonial shall be way better than Crumby's.

Olwen darling, could you come to the laboratory, please.

Sure. What's up, Ray, sugar?

I could really use a testimonial to the Power of Upup.
_____

Olwen’s Testimonial

The tide rolls in, the tide rolls out,
The tunicate are sloshed about.
Out hustles a larva to find some stratum
Relies upon the tide to tug um.
The tide is strong, the tide is weak
The tide is right for a stratum to seek.
_____

How’s that Ray, sugar?

Huh! I don’t get it! What’s that have to do with Upup?

Why everything, Ray, sweetie. You may have forgotten, Ray, about the little tunicate. They are out there, Ray, in the ocean, sloshed about. Yes Ray. There they are, little gooey sacs, plump with gonads, attached to a stratum by one foot, gently rocked to and fro, gooey sacs, their gonads plump, bulging. Then, suddenly, out pops a larva, off it swims, tidally influenced.

Yes Ray. Not only does the tide help the little larva along to a new, happy stratum on which to habitate, the gentle rocking of the tide, stimulates the gonads inside the gooey sac to plump up and bulge. Not only that, the tide helps the tunicate decide which sex it is, or both.

Like the song spells, The tide is high and I’m moving on, I want to be your number one.

Er. Olwen darling, I was fixing to go for my delicious cinnamon bun. Yet I find myself plumping up.

That’s Upup working on you Ray, sugar. Yes Ray. Upup works on you too. That’s because, deep down in your genome Ray, there abides a tunicate-like ancestor, a gooey sac, bulging with gonads.

All righty then. The cinnamon bun can wait. I am seduced.

Ray's Thought for the Day - I Believe, I Believe, I Believe!

Did I watch Mitt the Mormon on TV? Course not. My noggin has been on OT, surmising, I Believe, I Believe, I Believe! If I had watched Mitt the Mormon on TV, I would have lacked the time for serious thought. I would have been distracted from, I Believe, I Believe, I Believe!

Believe is one of those funny spells. Almost, but not quite universally, as in usage these days, to believe, conjures a leap of faith. That’s why, to believe in the spell evolution, is ridiculous. No leap of faith is required. If a person does believe in evolution, that person is an ignoramus who does not know what evolution is all about. The spell, evolution, belongs entirely outside belief. It is a wholly, not holy, different animal.

But what about the spell, gravity. Gravity does not require a leap of faith, either. Yet, everyone believes in gravity, while only the smart know a little something about evolution. Gravity, unlike evolution, is most familiar to everyone, yet unknowable. Why does it work? Nobody knows. It just does. That’s why gravity is a law, and evolution is a theory.

OK. Now that we have all that plumb, what about giving gravity some religious significance? As some may know, Druids believe that the Power of the WG may be relatively localized in this solar system, excluding Pluto, plus parts of outer space where the WG maintains castle like tourist courts in the sky, like the famous Arianrhod’s Castle. Lately though, Druids have pondered the possibility that Gravity may be a Goddess, God, or Hermaphroditic Force of Nature that holds us all together, for good or evil.

So, we Druids have decided to Believe in Gravity, and not just in the trivial, mundane sense of believe. No. We have decided that gravity is the Ultimate Power Unknowable Person(UPUP) that holds us all together for Good or Evil. We believe we need to worship Gravity, Upup.

Gravity, our new Deity, works equally on both sexes. Therefore, we believe that Gravity, our new Deity, is a Hermaphrodite. That seems logical. But so as not to slight the utterly sexless that Gravity also works upon, we believe that Gravity is friendly to simple cell division.

Yes. We now believe Gravity is a very important Deity, more important even than the Ethereally Beautiful WG. But we caution, Gravity is only more important than our Beloved WG at various, select locations in outer space, airless outer space. But that is fairly significant for those airless spots so we also believe Gravity needs a secret Druidic name. Yes. A secret Druidic name for a Deity is a necessity for our various ceremonies and incantations.

Long we, that is, all the CB Druidry pondered,this afternoon, after I got home from werk. Finally, we hit upon the obvious name for our new Hermaphroditic Gravity Deity, Upup. We believe Upup should be pronounced, Oooopoop. So now Upup the Hermaphrodite, joins the WG, Bran the Blessed, and various other deities in our ever expanding pantheon. How about that!

So next time you do evil, evil doer, or good, goody two shoes, instead of congratulating your ignorant self, raise your hands. Yes. Raise your hand to the high heavens. Hold your hands up as long as you can. Then, eventually, they shall drop of their own accord. Why do they drop on their own? Easy that, the Power of Upup!!!!

Now I need to go do some research to see if anybody else, like some obscure heretic, has thought of gravity as the most logical of all deities before I did.

Praise the Goddess! Praise Upup!