Ray's Rainfall Update - Day 41, DY 2

An inch is hard to come by. So the new total is, 0.01" + 0.98" = 0.99". Mercy! That is 41 days, starting out the year with less than an inch of rain.

Also, the humidity is low for these parts. The wind whips. It is fire weather.

These parts hardly ever have fire weather. That's why, despite the claims of many, these parts are not a fire cycle ecology. Unless one considers fires breaking out at irregular intervals so long ago that nobody living remembers them, a fire cycle.

Hold it! Move On has just informed me that the deadline for my vote is at hand. How the heck does that work? What vote?

Later.

Oh! I see. I get to vote in the vote that shall determine which one of the Dems gets the Move On endorsement. Yikes! It is push comes to shove time. I have to choose, I reckon, between Senator Clinton, the convicted imperialist, and Senator Obama, the uh. Hmmm.

OK. Why the heck would I vote for Senator Obama? Well, Senator Obama, so I hear, opposed the "war" on the miserable Iraqis from the beginning. So that is a good reason. On the other hand, Senator Obama still refers to the imperialist occupation of miserable Iraq as a war. That is a bad reason. So it is a tie. I shall vote for Senator Obama in the vote to determine who Move On endorses. But only if my vote is free. I shall not pay to vote.

Also, I suspect if I vote for Senator Obama, I shall join up with the winning team. That would be something. I could be a winner, a real winner. Jeez Louise though, I sure would rather vote for somebody I can identify with better, or at all. Like maybe I should vote for Ralph Nader again, instead.

No. I shall vote for Senator Obama. That is final, maybe.

Now I have to go check out the details of what all this may mean, some more, before I join up with the temporary winning team.

Ray's Thought for the Day - The Ruling Class is Totally Out of Ideas

Holy Goddess!

Not surprisingly the new Queenlet or Kinglet shall be Senator Clinton or Senator McCain. Therefore, the Druids shall sit out the upcoming. Holy Goddess! Red sure is glad we did not give any money to any of the inevitable losers. The stop the imperialism candidates had no chance. So why waste our money on their, ah, campaigns.

Holy Goddess! The military industrial complex, if such exists, has its reproductive organ so far up Senator McCain's excretory tract that that reproductive organ eventually protrudes from his mouth. Ditto for Senator Clinton. So, the upshot is, barring economic chaos in the Homeland, we shall enjoy four more years of unbridled imperialism.

Holy Goddess! Which gets me around to the ruling class which is out of ideas. Yes sir, they are out of ideas. That's why they have recycled the crudest variant of imperialism, actual military occupation of miserable former countries, now miserable colonies. And they have helped US select a prospective Queenlet or Kinglet, whichever, who will perpetuate that imperialism until the Homeland economy goes belly up.

Mercy! Hopefully, cheap labor can save US.

Magnus the Busboy, Part 6

Part 6

What is done can not be undone.

That’s right. But I, the WG, can stop this foolishness before all this foolishness gets totally out of hand. First thing I need to do is animate my pig. Twrch Trwyth, you are animated. Now go back inside. You have over stimulated those little dogs.

But WG, I can handle those little dogs. Once I get off the porch that incessant barking shall turn to pitiable whimpering.

No you shall not handle those little dogs. No arguments. Go on now. There’s a good pig.

Dejectedly, the sometimes gigantic pig, Twrch Trwyth, turned himself about, miserably fixing to head back through the crack. Like all good pets, Twrch Trwyth was obedient. Yet he wanted the WG to feel guilty about sending him inside. Twrch Trwyth, therefore, employed body language to express his sadness. His tail, ordinally an upwardly spiraled corkscrew, hung sadly limp. His great shoulder hump flopped over sideways. His head hung low. Tears welled from his beady eyes. Twrch Trwyth was at that moment, the fourth most pitiful looking pig ever.

Stop that sulking. Go on now. You can watch from inside.

Pitifully, Twrch Trwyth headed inside, delaying his journey only briefly to enjoy a nice scratch on the crack.

Now what about my busboy. Hmmm. Not much I can do about him. Magnus may have to suffer the consequences of his obliging nature. But then, there is that expensive telescope to consider. What if Magnus breaks his fall on top of that expensive telescope? I would be liable. Can’t have that. Land sakes! Who shall help a poor old lady like myself out of this conundrum?

I know. I shall consult with the responsible party, Upup, the God of Gravity. Are you there, mighty Upup?

Yes. It is I, Upup, the God of Gravity, I am almost everywhere. Why WG, have you committed a localized suspension of space and time in defiance of many of the known laws of physics?

Well, mighty Upup, I was annoyed by the direction progress was taking in my front yard. An old lady like me can only take so much perturbation. Yet localized progress was fixing to exceed my limits. That’s why I stopped all that foolishness. You, in turn, mighty Upup, may espy that my obliging busboy, Magnus, is fixing to take a hard fall, and in so doing, taking the fall, may destroy the personal property of a potential paying customer.

I do see. But WG, what am I supposed to do? There are rules governing these sad events.

Yes, there are, mighty Upup. There are rules. Yet once in a while, we divine beings break the rules. Otherwise, what would be the point of divinity? Now what I want you to do is lessen up on your Force just a tiny bit. Say, by half , just for that mere second or two Magnus shall have before he bounces off his noggin or whatever. Hmmm. Make it a two-thirds reduction.

What’s in it for me?

A cuddle or two.

Done.

Now it is all up to Magnus. Surely, with the Force reduced to 1 /3 normal earth gravity, Magnus shall have all the time he needs to right himself, land on his feet like a cat, and save that expensive telescope. That expensive telescope might, otherwise, wind up in court as exhibit one.

So, once again, Magnus found himself risen to a fairly great height, just like Bran the Blessed, Talking Head, foretold. But this time, it took two divinities to save him from a terrible industrial accident.

Meantime Magnus was thinking. Goddess help me! Save me from the relentless force of Upup. I may get hurt. I may get killed. Why did I put myself in this dangerous situation? Why would anyone climb down a ladder, one handed with the other hand engaged in holding an expensive telescope? Why did I attempt to do that? I know. It is my early Druid training. They have brainwashed me into doing everything I am told . I no longer think about the consequences of my actions. I am like a simple machine, or perhaps like a complex machine, like my wheelbarrow, ignorantly responding to the inevitable importunes of everyone that requires some action of me. That’s it. I am just like my wheelbarrow. My wheelbarrow is an idiot, just like me. But no longer. From now on I shall certainly surmise this or that potential consequence before undertaking various potentially dangerous actions. Yes. Uh! Why am I not falling already? Oops, here I go.

Hold it. This fall is not proceeding so expeditiously. I have plenty of time to plan a course of action. Yes. I shall leap forth from this ladder. Then, if necessary, I shall somersault through mid-air, simultaneously clasping this expensive telescope to my breast. After that, I shall land on my feet, like a cat.

Crumby' s Telescope Tomfoolery Notes - Early Risers

I really can see how our ignorant ancestors could easily freak themselves out. Fortunately, since our ignorant ancestors lacked a global media, the panic was usually contained to a village or two with little harm done.

I am fairly primitive myself. So when I sallied forth into the frigid stygian darkness this morning with only the trashcan and recycling bin for company, I thought, this is about right. Everything seemed normal, if that is possible.

But then I thought, One of the wire baskets set out to protect the shrubbery is an evil doer sneaking up on me. Course after a while I realized it was just a trusty shrub basket and not an evil doer. Still, I was slightly spooked.

So then I cast my gaze eastward, along the heavenly ecliptic and spooked myself again. There were two especially bright heavenly bodies over yonder. Oh My Goddess, We are all fixing to die, was my first thought upon espying that extra especially bright celestial body.

Yes, the global media has trained my primitive brain to feel like I am fixing to be exterminated by various astronomical events or phenomena. But this time, it is only Jupiter with Venus. Venus is on top.

Rayetta’s Birds, Class Aves Plus the Zuiko 70-300mm

Well. If you want to torture yourself, unnecessarily, try taking pictures of birds. No. Not just any birds. Try taking pictures of nervous birds.

Which birds are the nervous ones. Easy that, the ones that move around.

In these parts, the CB, all the birds are nervous except one, Mimus polyglottos. Consequently, Mimus polyglottos is the only bird that poses for electropictoids. The rest of them are too nervous, fidgety and motile for posing.

I have, desultorily, been torturing myself for weeks, taking pictures of birds. That’s because I thought I should get some practice with my Zuiko 70-300mm lens before the butterflies come back, re-emerge, or whatever it is those butterflies do, do. Despite the torture, I am glad I have been practicing.

My facts and opinions on the 70-300mm employed on birds, Class Aves, are as follows. The 4/3 sensor size needs about a 25mm FL lens to produce a 35mm, normal, 50mm equivalent image. So the top end of the 300mm gives about 12x (300/25), sort of. But if you think the bird will appear to be as big and close in your camera viewfinder as it does in your Nikon Superior 10x42's, you are just torturing yourself. Also, the image will never appear that sharp on your computer screen. If you think it ever will, you are just torturing yourself.

But getting back to the 70-300mm, 12x is pretty short for nervous birds. That said, if you do not mind having lots of scenery, most of it out of focus, around your nervous bird, then you can take pictures anyway. But, unless your camera is image stablized, unlike mine, you will have to shoot at 1/320 to keep your nervous bird from appearing too fuzzy. That’s if you are lucky. The electropictoid with the bird in the center may come out fuzzy anyway.

This Cassidix mexicanus, a common sight in these parts, is helping himself to our precious water resource. The bird bath is shaded, so I had to add flash, pp. He’s fairly sharp on the back, where the single focus point was located.

Also, if the bird is in a well-lit location, I need to dial up the aperture, hoping to get as much depth of field as possible. About F 8 at 1/320 minimum may be OK for fairly sharp electropictoids in bright sunlight. So this lens, with my camera, needs a high shutter speed and aperture to try to be sharp.

For a while, I thought my lens was a fuzzy copy. But when I shoot on a tripod, the images are acceptable, though not great. Yet, for a 300mm, (600mm equivalent), alternative lens options are very expensive, and maybe, not much better. So I shall keep plugging away.

Of course though, nervous birds do not often sit around in bright sunlight. They stick to the shadows. This lens, looking into shadows, for sure, indicates a tripod. Did you ever try to track a nervous bird through the brushy shadows with a camera on a tripod? Did you torture yourself?

Nevertheless, I am fixing to keep the 70-300mm to see if I can find something it is good for that corresponds to my interests. Maybe, on really bright days, it shall be good for butterflies.

Then too, I have not figured out how to employ the 70-300mm and the FL 36 flash simultaneously. That combination is very heavy for hand holding. I need to work with that combination to see if it is good for anything interesting that might be of interest to me.

Ray’s Rainfall Update - Day 36, DY 2

Everyone in these parts may soon die of thirst. And what about those toilets? Don’t forget those toilets darlings. Those toilets need to be flushed every once in a while. Otherwise, they smell.

Which brings to mind a question on methodology that occasionally erupts in the CB Boy’s Comfort Station. The question is, Crumby, why can’t you flush the toilet?

To which question, Crumby’s response is, That particular toilet does not require flushing following every little deposit, maybe. I am saving our precious water resource.

Yet Red ordered me, Ray, to secretly monitor Crumby’s toilet flushing habits. I can now release some of my findings regarding that secret study.

As everyone knows, my bosom companion, Crumby Ovate, is intermittently nasally afflicted. In practice, this means sometimes Crumby can smell, sometimes he can’t. Not surprisingly, I found during those passages of time when Crumby can smell, he is 4% more likely to flush a deposit than during those passages of time when he can not smell.

Is this a statistically relevant difference? I am not sure. Rayetta is crunching the numbers for me at this very nonce.

Yet the new rainfall total is, 0.10" + 0.88" = 0.98". Mercy! An inch is hard to come by.

Magnus the Busboy, Part 5

Part 5

The globe hurtled along. Over vast distances it hurtled. Time passed too. Our little globe hurtled through space. Time passed. The orbit shifted a millimeter or two, maybe. Change is inevitable.

Then one evening; Magnus you need to mop up the succubus vomit under the Biker Butt Bonanza Video Game.

Yes Ms. Arianrhod. I shall get right on the succubus vomit.

Magnus enjoyed mopping up the succubus vomit. That succubus vomit was interesting. Because, once Magnus got the succubus vomit in the mop bucket, the water in the mop bucket hydrated the soul of the succubus meal and the vinegar in the mop bucket stimulated the soul to relate its last thoughts.

Woe is me. I have betrayed myself, my loving wife, my kiddies, my poor old mother, all my kin, my friends, my casual acquaintances, and fallen into the arms of an alluring succubus. Woe is me. The alluring succubus has sucked out my soul. Where shall my soul go now? Woe is me.

Your soul, sir, is fixing to head over to Twrch Trwyth’s trough. It will be OK, sir, once, it gets mixed in with the creamed corn.

Woe is me. Is that you, Magnus?

Yes sir.

Please Magnus. Take a message to my wife and kiddies. Tell them a succubus got me. But also tell them, it was not my fault. I was entirely minding my own business when that succubus jumped me. Yes. Tell them I did not solicit the succubus. The succubus actually paid me. Hold it! Don’t tell my wife that. She won’t believe that. Woe is me.

Sometimes the soul was more optimistic.

You know Magnus. That succubus is the best thing that ever happened to me. Until I met that succubus, my life was all toil and misery. Everybody picked on me. I never got a break. Nobody liked me. I worked, 24/7 at a dead end job. Nobody appreciated me. Good! I shall remember my few moments of ecstasy with that beautiful succubus forever. Shove the rest.

Magnus! Hurry up with that succubus vomit. The paying customers are fixing to arrive.

Yes Ms. Arianrhod.

Magnus expeditiously emptied his bucket into his wheelbarrow. These days, due to the passage of time, confluent with the globe’s orbital hurtle, Magnus could actually operate the wheelbarrow like a normal person, thumbs anterior on the handles. So Magnus made good progress in the direction of Twrch Trwyth’s trough. As always, Magnus carefully dumped his wheelbarrow, making sure all the ingredients made it into the trough, rather than running down the sides of the trough and onto the floor. Then Magnus gave his wheelbarrow a good hosing and dumped the hosing into to the trough too.

There now. I am all done with the succubus vomit, Ms. Arianrhod.

Then take down the chairs Magnus, and put out the bibs. Haste Magnus, these are not the usual paying customers fixing to arrive. No Magnus. These are unusual paying customers. Haste Magnus.

Yes Ms. Arianrhod.

Magnus forged ahead. Down came the chairs onto the floor. Out went the bibs onto the tables. All set!

Just in the nick of time too. Mercy! Magnus looked around. Yep. There were all the WG ladies, all beautiful. There was Twrch Trwyth, pig handsome. All were at their stations awaiting the unusual paying customers.

But then outside, a great clamour as of the barking of small dogs arose. Puppy dogs, surmised Magnus. Our unusual paying customers are puppy dogs. Blodeuwedd! Let’s go check out the puppy dogs.

You go Magnus. I’m busy.

OK. I shall go see what all the barking is about. Casting a lingering love lorn glance at the beautiful Blodeuwedd, Magnus headed out the crack that served as the front door to the WG Bar and Grill. Out on to the front porch went Magnus.

Whoa! Out in the front yard were approaching three fifties of little white dogs. All those little dogs had red ears. All of those little dogs barked excitedly. All of those little dogs were harnessed up to an all terrain vehicle, a great big cart type conveyance, rolling along on twain tractor tires, making progress toward the front porch of the WG Bar and Grill. In the cart sat elderly Druids, four of them. One of those four appeared to be driving. Whoa, the elderly Druid driver hollered out. Whoa you dogs. Most of the little dogs stopped pulling. The great conveyance slowed. Then the elderly Druid pulled on a mighty handy lever and the rest of the little dogs also stopped. Most of the little dogs sat down. The great conveyance also stopped. Then all the elderly Druids busied themselves with this or that inside the great conveyance. Suddenly a ladder was thrust over the side of the great conveyance.

Then, a great tall ladder lowered, the Druids cast their elderly visages about and espied Magnus. Magnus espied the elderly Druids. The elderly Druids consulted among themselves. The little dogs barked excitedly.

An elderly Druid arose up and cried out. Stop that barking. Most of the little dogs stopped barking. Young man! Help us down. Don’t pet the dogs, either. They bite.

What should I do, Magnus wanted to know.

Hold the ladder.

Magnus, hemi-circling the little dogs, assayed to fetch up next to the ladder.

A Druid, one of the elderly quartet, commenced to climb out of the great conveyance or cart. No easy task that, for all the elderly Druids were encumbered by every consumer audio video device known to mere mortals of that place and time. Yes. Those elderly Druids had telescopes, spotting scopes, binoculars, monoculars, loupes, cameras, recorders, video cams, tripods, monopods, lenses, zooms, booms, flashes, radios, parabolic mirrors, plus various odds and ends. Encumbered those elderly Druids were, so it took awhile for the first Druid to dismount out of the cart since that elderly Druid had to hand off most of his gear to the three elderly Druids in the cart before a safe dismount down the ladder that led from the top of the cart, earthward, might be undertaken.

Once climbed down, the dismounted elderly Druid hollered up to the rest of the elderly Druids, hand me down my gear to this young man. And to Magnus, the elderly Druid counseled, Young man, you need to climb up the ladder so far that you may safely lay a hand on my first piece of gear that those triplet Druids up in the cart conspire to hand you. Then once you have that gear in hand, back down the ladder with that gear, holding firmly to the ladder with your free hand. Then, hand that particular gear off to me. Once I have that gear safely bestowed upon my person, head back up the ladder, retrieve a second piece of my gear, back down the ladder and hand that gear off, also. Yes. We shall proceed even in that fashion until I have all my gear properly disposed upon my person.

Magnus, obligingly, climbed up and down the ladder, receiving a piece of gear on high, handing it off below, awaiting the notification that the gear was safely bestowed upon the elderly Druidic person, then climbing upward again.

Meantime, inside the WG Bar and Grill, Blodeuweed, primping before the mirror behind the bar, wondered aloud, For goodness sakes, those unusual paying customers are taking their own sweet time. Granny, I better go see about those unusual paying customers.

Yes dear. You go see.

Come on Twrch Trwyth. Let’s go see what Magnus and the unusual paying customers are up to.

Out they went, the beautiful Blodeuwedd and the mighty Twrch Trwyth, on to the front porch.

Despite their long journey, now interrupted, a great many of the little dogs were awake and alert. All those awake and alert little dogs started barking when they espied the pig on the porch. That barking woke up the rest of the little dogs. Anon, all three fifties of little dogs were barking. Then, all the elderly Druids began hollering at once. Some hollered, Stop it you dogs, stop that barking. Others hollered, Don’t pet the dogs! They bite! But Magnus’s Druid hollered, Don’t drop my telescope, young man!

Granny, you and Mama need to come out here, Blodeuwedd hollered, joining in the general hollering. There’s like a tousand or maybe two tousand little dogs out here fixing to mix it up with our pig.

Sure enough, every little dog was straining against its harness seeking to move forward, in terms of progress, straining to approach the pig on the porch. Curious they were, biters every one.

Yes. Just as they had been trained to do, all 150 of those terriers strained at the leash, more or less in unison, seeking to meet up with the pig on the porch. Yes. The brake on the great elderly Druid conveyance slipped a notch. Yes. the excited terriers strained forward, seeking yet more progress.

Gran-eeeeeeeeeeeeee!, shrieked the beautiful Blodeuwedd.

Meantime, Magnus and the ladder, reacting to the forward lurch of the great elderly Druid conveyance, toppled over in an equal and opposite direction to the direction the terriers were headed.. So Magnus found himself, an expensive telescope in hand, compelled against his will by the great force of Upup, God of Gravity, earthward.

Fortunately, at that very instant, in the nick of time, the Blessed WG, emerged through the crack on to the front porch. Land sakes! Stop all this nonsense. The Blessed WG commands an instantaneous halt to all this nonsense.

Instantly, at the command of the Blessed WG, time and space froze, locally. That’s how serious the situation was. The WG had to actually freeze time and space out in the front yard to save Magnus and keep the terriers from swarming her pig.

Ray's Rainfall Update - Day 35, DY 2

I'm telling you. DY 2 is a wet one. Why, we could be up to a whole inch of rain in the gauge, any week now. The new all important total is, 0.79" + 0.09" = 0.88". Mercy!

Meantime, I may get a rebate. The lake is only a few miles away. Maybe I shall use my rebate to put in a secret water line down to the lake. How much would a secret water line and a pump, cost? Will my rebate cover the cost?

Ray's Thought for the Day - Dasypus novemcinctus

The reign of the Hoover Kinglet ended in 1932, 76 years ago. Who among US was sentient during that seemingly long ago time, and still is?

Well. It seems to me like, in order to have any hope of a rational personal memory of the Hoover reign, a normal person would need to have been 10 years old in 1932, and fairly smart. So that person would now be, at least 86.

There may be a goodly number of fairly smart, still sentient Americanos, 86 and older who are still alive, drawing their social security. Those are the ones who should select our next Kinglet in the upcoming. Nobody else, but those old farts, should get to vote.

Oh My Goddess! Imagine all the attention those elderly specimens would get. Oh my Goddess! Imagine the impact on the medias, both conserva-teeve and liber-al. Oh my Goddess! Imagine the whiplash response of the campaigns, changing tactics. Ha!

Oh My Goddess! In every corner of the land the Hoover Hogs had better watch out! For what else would all those old timers demand, but a Hoover Hog barbecue, for old times sake. Yes. That's right. The candidates would have to organize events for the elderly yet enfranchised.

Let's go hear that young man, Senator McCain. He's fixing to up our social security, plus they shall be serving old timey Hoover Hog. Mmmm boy. Hoover Hog!

Ray's Rainfall Update - Day 32, DY 2

Anon, we shall have completed 1/10th of our journey that we call DY 2. So far, DY 2 really sucks. DY 2 is the worst year ever recorded in recent Druid history. But that's OK. We knew it would be.

So what's the new, all important rainfall total for DY 2 at the CB. Well, it is 0.43" + 0.36" = 0.79". That is so swell a total. Remember the old saw, Everyone talks about the weather, but, no one does anything about the weather. Well, that old saw is an ignorant lie. For long, we have been doing plenty about the weather. Now, we get to reap another old saw, what we sew. You reap, what you sew.

Magnus the Busboy, Part 4

Part 4

Anon, Magnus settled into a routine. He was busboy from 6 pm til 2 am. He got to sleep from 2 am til 10 am. From 10 am til 6 pm he got to fool around.

Magnus liked this arrangement. For one thing, he had lots more time to fool around than he ever had at the sacrificial mall. Those Druids were cruel taskmasters. Then too, he had a talking pig for company. Not only that, when Magnus and Twrch Trwyth went outside, clear of the porch, the pig assumed his normal outdoor size. So nobody, and I mean nobody ever pestered Magnus when he was out with his pig as big as four double wides. Then too, the ladies were all very nice to Magnus, mostly. Except that dang Blodeuwedd taunted him sometimes. Then Magnus would get aggravated. But since Magnus was hopelessly in love with Blodeuwedd, he put up with the taunting.

Why are you pouting, Magnus?

That dang grand daughter of yours has been taunting me again, Maam.

Blodeuwedd, have you been taunting Magnus?

Yes Granny, I have. I just can’t seem to help myself. I am truly sorry, but he is just a lot of fun to taunt. He is such a pipsqueak.

So it went. Usually though, even Blodeuwedd was nice to Magnus, unless he got too big for his britches.

Magnus liked his job too. That is because the paying customers were way interesting, at least as interesting as Druids, and way less demanding than Druids.

A typical night’s work for Magnus went thusly. First he would report for duty. There all the ladies would be at the bar. Mercy, they would be all dressed up in their natural appearances, almost too beautiful to behold. Then Arianrhod would take Magnus in hand, directing him to and fro, on little tasks that needed doing in the dining area before the paying customers arrived. Magnus would hustle about, wiping, sweeping, mopping, toting. Then after all that, Magnus got the chairs off the tables. Once those chairs were all arranged, Magnus got out the place settings for the tables, that some call bibs, and put out one bib for each chair. Then Magnus got to check the game appliances in the gaming area for slobber. If there was any slobber on the various games, Magnus wiped that slobber up. Then Magnus got to rest, awaiting the arrival of the first paying customers.

Anon, here they came, drawn to the WG Bar and Grill, the hungry, the thirsty, the lonely. Here they came.

Giants, ogres, hump backs, black men, green men, midgets etc., of every description and possible kind lurked at every table or played at every game. Lady giants, lady orges, lady humpbacks, black ladies, green ladies, lady midgets etc., of every kind and description did too. Occasionally a wild succubus came in.

Magnus was very busy. All the mess they all made had to go in Twrch Trwyth’s trough. Magnus! Where’s Magnus? Cleanup on number nine Magnus. On a busy night, Magnus was a whirlwind of activity. But on slow nights Magnus got to visit with the paying customers.

Come hither young Magnus.

Yes sir.

Do ye espy this hump?

Yes sir.

How would ye like to have a hump such as this betwixt yer shoulders? A great heavy burden it might be to ye, always itching.

Yes sir.

I shall give ye a silver dollar if ye scratch me hump.

Yes sir.

So then Magnus would scratch the hump. Magnus, after he got the hang of his new job, always carried a rake for scratching the hump backs. But Magnus had to share the silver dollars with the WG ladies, on account of the WG provided the special hump back scratching rake. Even so, it’s good luck to scratch a hump. You get a silver dollar.

All the paying customers told lies too.

There I was, a lonely young giant, lost in the woods, with only a woodchuck for company. When suddenly, up galloped an army of knights in shining armor. There must have been upwards of a tousand or maybe two tousand of those ferocious, glittering knights. All those knights had on the latest armor and even their horses had on the latest armor. Plus, every last one of those knights was a Sun God Trainee, and, maybe a score of them were fixing to matriculate at any moment. All that was needed was a hideous great giant like me. Then the matriculation process might proceed. Mercy on me! I did not want to be the miserable giant that foisted another Sun God up the wazoo of an unsuspecting universe. But what was I to do?

What the heck did you do, sir?

The woodchuck saved me. I had been wondering about that woodchuck. Why is that woodchuck following me? But I now understand that the Blessed WG sent that woodchuck to be my companion for just such an occasion, attacked by hoards of glittering knights on horseback.

What the heck did the woodchuck do to save you, sir?

Guess Magnus.

Uh. Chucked wood?

Correct. That’s a good boy. Here’s a silver dollar fer ye.

So it went.

Many have wondered, considering the evil reputations of the WG Bar and Grill clientele, why so few actual fights ever broke out. Why were there no fist fights, razor fights, gun fights, snuff fights or napkin dispenser fights?

Well, that’s because all that folk are respectful of the WG. Yet also, Twrch Trwyth is the bouncer. Nobody wants to step outside with Twrch Trwyth.

Closing time. Easy that. Pick up the loose change. Leave the rest.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Dying at Work

Dying at work is always a possibility. Some do, most don't.

Generally speaking, dying at work is the result of an industrial accident in a fairly high risk job situation. Usually, those kinds of deaths are not considered especially funny. Although, if they occur regularly enough in some foreign country, like say in Chinese coal mines, then they may tickle a few ribs, in these parts, but probably not in Chinese parts.

Here, in these parts, dying at work is especially funny when an old guy, long in servitude at a sedentary job, like dies in his cubicle, or passes on, behind his desk. Then of course, the funny part is how long it takes everyone to figure out he is dead and what they eventually do with the corpse. Ha!

That's the point Walker, Republic of Tejas, Ranger was making on the TV this morning about Senator McCain, lifelong imperialist. Senator McCain is old and liable to die at the office. Fact is, he could die before he gets to the office. The excitement of the upcoming general may kill him, but he may not even get that far. He could die from excitement before he even gets to the upcoming general.

So I am with Walker, Republic of Tejas, Ranger, when it comes to Senator McCain, lifelong imperialist. Senator McCain needs to spend some of what little time he has left, picking a young, vigorous, virile, running mate that can stand in for him when he drops dead, possibly on the campaign trail.

Who might such a young, vigourous, virile younger man be, that Senator McCain might pick? I know, he should pick his buddy, Senator Graham Cracker.

Ray's Thought for the Day - The Cinnamon Bun Blues

Delicious cinnamon bun day was yesterday. Yet, for the first delicious cinnamon day in years, I decided to forego my delicious cinnamon bun, voluntarily. I didn’t get my delicious cinnamon bun. Yes. I am finally tired enough of my delicious cinnamon buns, that I may forego one, once in a while, hoping that my act of self-sacrifice shall promote the common good.

Many believe, in theory, that an event, even a non-event such as personal self-sacrifice, may cause another event to happen. Like what if an evil doer got my foregone delicious cinnamon bun instead of me, and choked to death on it. Dwell on that. All the future evil deeds of that evil doer should then, never, come to pass. Because, he or she is dead, choked to death on a delicious cinnamon bun, meant for me.

But all that is merely wishful thinking. I know now that my foregone delicious cinnamon bun did not fell an evil doer yesterday. How do I know that? There have been no news reports of anyone, evil or otherwise, choking to death on a delicious cinnamon bun. Course, there is always hope. Perhaps the mere choking of a solitary evil doer is not news worthy. I like to think so.

Meantime, the winnowing of the presumptive Kinglet and Queenlet herd continues, especially on the Democratic side. Dang it! More and more, it appears that both the final candidates, shall be avowed Mammonites and both shall be imperialists. Oh well. I knew that would be the outcome all along. Still, there was always hope, no matter how faint.

How could a new Kinglet or Queenlet possibly go up against the Demon Mammon anyway? The Demon Mammon is entrenched in our lifestyle and way of life. He has US by the short hairs.

Ray's Rainfall Update - Day 29, DY 2

On and on the drizzle, drizzled. Eventually, the drizzle stopped. By the time the drizzle stopped, 0.22" had accumulated in the gauge. So, the rainfall total for DY 2 is now 0.22" + 0.14" = 0.36". That's still nowhere near enough for my seed.

Besides my seeds, my presumptive weeds, over yonder in their sacks, the weeds outside are little apparent. Generally, by now, these parts are green with winter weeds. Not so, so far in DY 2.

Magnus the Busboy, Part 3

Part 3

Work in the nighttime, sleep in the daytime, I may not ever get home. The Talking Heads or one of them .

Magnus, you must be tuckered out. Would you like to take a nice nap?

Yes Maam. But I am particular about where I go to sleep. That’s because I am constantly afeared that an evil doer or two may sneak up on me while I am asleep. That’s been my experience, too. At the sacrificial mall boys’s dormitory, some of those Druids encouraged the boys to sneak up on me while I was asleep. So I had to take many precautions lest my sleep get disturbed by all those evil doers that were out to get me. Also, it took a great while to figure out which ones of those Druids were setting those bad boys on me. Yet once I figured all that out, gradually, I also figured out what treats those wicked Druids and bad boys liked most.

Simultaneously, One of the Druids, a nice one, that never snuck up on me or allowed the other boys to pick on me, used to recite his memories to me for practice. That old guy knew all about poison, what those poisons were good for and such. In particular, he memorized all manner of useful information pertinent to the various easily collectable poisonous herbs or various parts of the various other plants besides herbs, plus fungi.

Yep. I learned quite a bit. The only trouble was, even though I knew all the poisonous plants and what they looked like and their various habitations, I didn’t know where to go find them, handily. Plus, my child labor chores occupied a great deal of my time, leaving scanty opportunity to botanize for poisonous plants. Yet,

My Goodness Magnus, are you fixing to confess to poisoning Druids and innocent little boys?

Yes Maam. However, those boys were not innocent. Soon as they were fixing to sneak up on me, those boys lost their innocence forever.

Well I’ll swan, Magnus, I have taken a serpent to my breast, metaphorically speaking. Twrch Trwyth, did you know that Magnus is apt to poison us all?

No WG, I had no idea. Mercy! On the other hand, a pig such as myself is not easy to poison. Some might even argue that a pig such as myself is impossible to poison. So it is likely I would be spared. Poisons are of little concern to me, since they are generally edible, just like everything else.

Well I’ll swan. Hmmm. All righty, Magnus, I certainly do not want you to feel like anyone is sneaking up on you while you are taking your nap. You might poison the entire household.

He’s lying Granny. I bet he never poisoned so much as an ant. He’s just a baby

No I aint. Dang it, Blodeuwedd. I did too poison a great many Druids and innocent little boys, three of each, maybe. That bunch shall never trouble me again.

Sure you did, Magnus. I bet that’s what you wanted to do, but you were too much of little baby. So you made up all these lies to comfort yourself. That’s what I bet.

Lucky for you, Blodeuwedd, you are a dang girl. Else you would not get away with your mean taunts, dang it, boo-hoo-hoo.

Yes, it is true. Magnus, worn to a frazzle from his adventures, needed a nap. Exhausted from lack of a nap, confused by this strange new environment, fretful over getting all his blood sucked out; aggravated by the relentless taunts; all these factors bore down on Magnus. Magnus broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

I can’t take it. Boo-hoo-hoo. I can’t take it. Waaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Then everyone felt sorry for Magnus. Cerridwen felt sorry. Twrch Trwyth felt sorry. Arianrhod, mopping up behind the bar, felt sorry. Even Blodeuwedd felt sorry. Blodeuwedd also felt, vindicated.

See Granny.

Stop that Blodeuwedd.

Yes Granny.

Land sakes! There there Magnus. Come here. There there.

The WG reached over with her big flabby arms. Plucking Magnus forth She set him on Her lap, clutching his miserable noggin to Her Ample Bosoms. There there Magnus.

Yes. For the first time, ever, Magnus got clasped to the Ample Bosoms. Anon, after approximately four minutes of uncontrollable sobbing punctuated by ear splitting yowls, Magnus quieted down. By then, after four minutes of unendurable yowling, everyone, especially Blodeuwedd, felt a good deal less sorry for Magnus than they had in the first place. But then, once he quieted down, everyone felt sorry for him again. Then, when he conked out, partly from oxygen deficit, still pressed against the Ample Bosoms, everyone felt relieved of all that sorrow.

There there Magnus. Hmmm. Well, he’s conked out. What shall we do with him? He may be too precocious to keep. Twrch Trwyth, since you have chosen to burden me with Magnus, you shall be his watch pig. Matter of fact, he shall bunk with you. That way you can make sure he does not feel like he is being snuck up on. I can’t have him poisoning the lot of us.

So it was decided. Arianrhod, take Magnus.

Yes Mama.

Now everybody, let’s head on over to Twrch Trwyth’s sty. We shall fix it up the way a little boy might like it.

Off they all went.

First they swept away the straw from one of the corners of the sty. Then they moved in a little bed for Magnus and made that up so Arianrhod could put Magnus in the bed. Then they argued about what a little boy might like for bedroom accouterments. But three ladies and a pig didn’t know much about that so they wisely decided to let Magnus decorate his corner of the sty himself, after his nap.

Magnus napped and napped. During all that long nap, nobody snuck up on Magnus. Day turned to night. Night turned to day. Still Magnus napped. At last though, Magnus awoke in his own little bed in his own pig sty. Where the heck am I now?

You are in my sty, Magnus. We are bunkmates, you and I, by the will of the Blessed WG. I have been guarding you, by the will of the WG, to make sure nobody snuck up on you.

Aren’t sties supposed to be outside?

Normally that is the case, but here at the WG’s place, I am a house pig. So my sty is inside. I get to stay with the people. Therefore, so do you.

Oh man. Mercy on me. I remember. I started crying like a baby. Then the WG grabbed me. I must have passed out after that. Mercy. I seem to be OK though. They didn’t suck my blood out did they? That mean gal hasn’t been sneaking up, has she?

No Magnus. No one has snuck up on you. No one has sucked your blood. Are you rested up now?

Yepper. I am rested up, maybe. What do I do now?

Well Magnus, I suspect the WG will want you to start earning your keep. Remember, She needs you to bus tables. You shall start this very evening, the night shift, six til two. But first, let’s go find something to eat.

OK. But first I need to do my ablutions

Once Magnus finished his ablutions, off they went, foraging.

Thus began, finally, Magnus’s career option as busboy at the WG Bar and Grill.

What does a busboy do besides operate that great wheelbarrow, Twrch Trwyth?

Duties as assigned, Magnus, duties as assigned.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Rainfall Update for Day 26, DY 2

We finally got some more drizzle. So the total over 26 days into DY 2 is 0.14". I used more than that, cleaning up my hamburguese. Hark! Better stock up on bottled water. This situation is fixing to get bad, then worse.

Yep. Everyone needs to stock up on water. Yep. Get yourself a big water container. Like maybe a water truck. Then head on down to the lake. There is free water in the lake. So go down to the lake and take advantage of all that free water while there is still time.

Meanwhile, I finally located the full text of the Kinglet's Abu Dhabi speech. Hunting useless information down is what I do when I am sick and can not do much else. Anyway. That is what I have been doing while I was home sick. Here's what I did, once I found the Kinglet's speech in Abu Dhabi.

_____

I found it. The full text of the Kinglet’s speech, in Abu Dhabi, the place not the language. I am fixing to read it.

There now. I have read the full text. Now I am fixing to look up information on the different parts I need some clarification on. First, I shall number the paragraphs though. . Mercy! There are 46 total paragraphs!

Paragraph 4: A great new era is unfolding before us. This new era is founded on the equality of all people before God. OK. Maybe I can’t actually look this one up. It is a faith thing. All the people are equal before God. Right. God must be the same as the Demon Mammon. Got it.

Paragraph 5: Beginning with the revered father of this country - Sheikh Zayed - you have succeeded in building a prosperous country out of the desert. Whoa! Who the heck is Sheik Zayed? Here we go. SheikZayed.com. Whoa! Sheik Zayed has only been dead since 2004. Yet he is already the father of a prosperous society that has skyscapered out of the desert lickety split, aided only by 10% of the globe's oil reserves and plenty of cheap foreign labor. Oops, skipping ahead, I mean, cheap foreign human capital.

Paragraph 8: In a free and just society, every person is treated with dignity. In a free and just society, leaders are accountable to those they govern. And in a free and just society, individuals can rise as far as their talents and hard work will take them. Whoa! I need to look this up. Where the heck is this place? We need to move the Cow Barn to this place. Where the heck is it?

Dang it! I think the Kinglet must have made that place up. That place must exist between his ears. No. Hold it. I found it! That place is, The Big Rock Candy Mountain!!!!

Ohhh, in the Big Rock Candy Mountain, pigs eat candy corn, the goat cheese is delicious, and no one is forlorn. The pigs are not unclean, cause the pigs eat candy corn, and no one eats the pigs, yet no one is forlorn. And the leaders all agree, that work is a waste of time, so everyone that’s on the clock, get’s off at half past nine.

Ohhhhh, in the Big Rock Candy Mountain, there’s liberty for me, there’s justice too, and freedom, cause everyone is free. Plus, everyone is free, and all the stuff is free. There’s candy corn for all the pigs and some for you and me.

Whoa! I have gotten carried away here. Back to work.

Paragraphs 20 -21: Free and just societies also create opportunities for their citizens. This opportunity begins with economic growth. In any society, the greatest resource is not the oil in the ground or the minerals beneath the soil.

It is the skills and talents of the people. Or as one Nobel winning economist calls this human capital. Er. OK. This is the part that interests me. Dang it! There ought to be a comma after this. But never mind that. Who is this Nobel winning economist? Got to look that economist up. Here he is. G.S. Becker. Yikes! He is also a sociologist. Oh my Goddess! Here comes all this human capital out of Mexico. We need to invest in this human capital so all those Mexicans can realize their full potential, only limited by talent and hard work. Oh my Goddess! How about fixing those Bangladeshis up the same way in Abu Dhabi. Let’s see. What is the best way to employ all this human capital. Uh, I know, they can be, cheap labor.

Paragraph 36: The United States has no desire for territory. Huh, huh, huh.

Paragraph 46: God bless. See above.
____

So those are all the parts of the Kinglet's speech in Abu Dhabi that caught enough of my attention to look up. Actually, Sheik Zayed was not all bad. But big wow, hardly anybody is all bad.

Ray's Extra Thought for the Day - Cough - Ack- Whoops!!!!

Due, possibly, to the impossibly dry conditions in these parts, the result of one dry norther after another, for weeks on end, and, werkin' in the sun, I have developed a spectactular cough. Cough! Today, the cough sent me home from werk. Mercy! Cough = No Dinero! Jeez Louise! I coughed so hard, once I got home, that I started gagging and upchucked part of my delicious hamburguese. Mercy! There it went, into the sink. There it went. Down the drain. Whoa! There's goes a bunch of water that could have been put to better use.

My Goddess! And people complain about dogs being nasty. Well, at least I didn't try to lick my partially digested, delicious hamburguese out of the sink.

Which all serves to remind me of our ignoramus Kinglet. There he is, faunching around in foreign parts. Never a care has our Kinglet. That's because, never a thought, never a care.

Jeez Louise! I need to get the full text of his nitwit Abu Dhabi speech. Jeez Louise! I need to go look for that right now. Before I commence coughin again.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Zoom, zoom.

Boy howdy! Is our ignoramus Kinglet in his element, or what! There he is, hobnobbing with the royalty of Araby, plus getting to off load complex weapons systems, like jet airplanes. Zoom, zoom.

Yes. Our precious Kinglet is pimping for our brave arms dealers. Anon, every young prince in Araby shall be flying around in fighter jets. Zoom, zoom.

Come here Prince Faisal. I have a surprise for you.

What do I get, Dad?

I have grown weary of all the whining around here. From now on, I shall not have to put up with any more whining about who gets to fly the jet fighters. No. I have purchased a jet fighter for each of my sons. Here are the keys to your very own
F-16 fighter jet.

Whee!

Send in Farouk.

Yes sir. Thanks Dad.

Zoom, zoom, democracy, the Kinglet version, in action.

Aint imperialism great!

Ray's Thought for the Day - A Motley Crew of Birders and the King Ranch

Keeping these parts properly electrified is important. That’s why we need wind farms. But wind farms require an Environmental Assessment (EA). Yet there are no actual laws governing the erection of wind farms. So that’s a win-win situation for electrification. Plus the birders that get jobs performing the EAs just get to record the usual facts. Yes. One are two endangered bird territories may be impacted by the construction, but those birds can just go somewhere else. Besides, there are no laws protecting that habitat encompassed by the those endangered bird territories.

Everyone is plenty happy with those sort of EAs.

Except, for ludites who want US to freeze in the dark without even a lit up computer monitor for company. Like, for example, those ludite motley birders and the King Ranch owners who are whining about having a windmill farm located in the King Ranch parts. What are they thinking?

Somebody needs to pay all of them a bunch of money. That will shut them up.

Yes. US needs to put up those wind farms smack dab in the middle of migratory bird landfall sites all along the coast. Then, US can do a study to see if any of those surviving miserable birds that don’t get clobbered by the windmills, are smart enough to migrate somewhere else. Windmills, all along the coast, shall eventually be good for those migratory birds. For example, natural selection should eventually produce smart birds capable of evading the windmills. Or, if you don’t “believe” in natural selection, then you might believe it is time for those birds to go extinct, anyway. See, a win-win situation.

OK. The solution is, get that motley crew of birders on the US payroll to do the EA. Then, provide the King Ranch owners with a few more millions. That ought to do it. Yep. Everyone is happy. US don’t freeze in the dark, the motley crew get temporary jobs, the King Ranch owners get richer, and the birds get smarter, or die.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Our Kinglet, at Home in Abu Dhabi

This morning I have been trying to locate the full text of the Kinglet’s Abu Dhabi pontificate with no luck. I am doing all that because I was up early. I was up early because my back hurts from werkin’ in the sun last week. My back hurts!

So to distract me from my back, which hurts, I was watching our ignoramus, yet fabulously rich Kinglet pontificate on TV about democracy and all the insidious threats, thereto, when the Kinglet assured his global audience that everyone, has capital value, even, presumably, all the indentured servants laboring in Abu Dhabi. At least that is what I thought I heard that ignoramus say. Presumably, if I heard him correctly, capital value is, in the Kinglet’s noggin, the key to democracy.

You all have capital value. You may use your capital value to achieve your heart’s desire, if you work hard and use all the smarts that God gave you. But only if, your governments allow you to petition them peacefully instead of throwing you in jail and torturing you when you complain about the low, or no, wages. And remember, it is a bad idea to actually organize because organization compromises your capital value which you need to keep all to yourself for the sake of democracy. Also, it is probably a bad idea to migrate to some place where there are jobs and then start whining about your capital value. No. You need to keep quiet and work hard once you migrate somewhere. Then, once you work hard and use your smarts to become rich, you can migrate back to your own country and complain there. By then, your own country may appreciate your capital value more than it did originally.

Yep. But our ignoramus Kinglet never did a hard day’s work in his life. Plus he is dumb as sump pump. Plus he is fabulously rich anyway, despite being dumb. So all that makes perfect sense, probably, to the Arab royalty assembled in the conference room of the Emirate’s Hotel, listening to our Kinglet.

I shall search some more for the actual text of the Kinglet’s speech in Abu Dhabi, just for the heck of it. Yesterday, my cinnamon bun was delicious. My back hurts!

Magnus the Busboy, Part 2

Blodeuwedd, stop taunting Magnus. Let him finish his pie in peace.

Yes Granny.

There they all were. Cerridwen espied Magnus as he picked at his cherry pie. Magnus espied Blodeuwedd sprawled out in the wheelbarrow. Blodeuwedd sang to herself. Tra-la-la, la-de-da.

Meantime the level of the beer in the trough gradually climbed, because Twrch Trwyth’s beer trough level constantly renewed itself. Anon, the level of the beer in the trough reached even with Twrch Trwyth’s mighty nostrils. The snoozing pig snorted, clearing his mighty nostrils. With that snort, a tidal wave slid down the trough only to break against the end of the trough, then wash back upon the snout of the mighty pig. Thrice Twrch Trwyth snorted. Thrice the rebounding wave sloshed over the mighty pig.

At last though, as the third mighty wave rebound crashed upon Twrch Trwyth, the pig awoke. I need to get up, thought the pig. Laboriously, his noggin clouded with beer fumes, Twrch Trwyth hoisted himself up on to his fore trotters. Then, just as laboriously, Twrch Trwyth hoisted himself up on to his hind trotters. Then, gingerly, the mighty pig stepped out of the trough. First he got his fore trotters out. Then his hind trotters. There now, exclaimed Twrch Trwyth, I am on dry land again.

Espying that Magnus was at table, the curious pig ambled on over. Once ambled over, Twrch Trwyth took a load off his hind trotters, sitting himself down next to Magnus.

Did my good pig get plenty to eat and drink?, Cerridewn wanted to know.

Almost, your most gracious WG. How’s the cherry pie, Magnus?

Delicious. Just the right balance of tart and sweet. Plus, the crust is light and flaky.

Are you fixing to eat it all?

Maybe.

Cerridwen and Twrch Trwyth espied Magnus as Magnus picked at his pie. Blodeuwedd, sprawled in the wheelbarrow sang to herself. Tra-la-la, la-de-da.

Magnus thought. Ahem, that pig wants my pie. I am full. Yet if I give my pie to the pig, they shall want me to operate the wheelbarrow by myself, immediately. Yet that dang big old mean gal is sprawled out in the wheelbarrow. Look at her. She is so big her legs stick out plumb over the end of it.

True enough. Blodeuwedd was so big her knees were situated all the way to the end of the wheelbarrow with the rest of her legs hanging over, kicking cadence to, Tra-la-la, la-de-da.

Mercy! Thought Magnus. Oh well. Might just as soon get it over with.

Maam. This pie is delicious. But I ate too much already. So I can not finish my delicious pie. I reckon Twrch Trwyth wants the rest of my pie. Do you allow him to get treats at table?

Sure we do. He’s such a good pig. Twrch Trwyth want some pie. Yes he do.

With that, Magnus slid his cherry pie over to the edge of the table in front of the happily smiling pig.

Thank you Magnus. I shall make short work of this pie. Ummm. Snort. Snort.

Mercy! Thought Magnus. Where did it go?

Sure enough, then Cerridwen wanted to know if Magnus was ready to operate the wheelbarrow.

Magnus are you ready to operate the wheelbarrow.

Yes Maam. But first I need to go to the Boy’s Comfort Station. There are a couple of ablutions I need to attend to before I wheel or barrow that wheelbarrow. The Druids always required me to wash up after dinner and supper. I expect that requirement applies in these parts also.

Yes Magnus, that requirement is general. You are a smart little boy Magnus. Do you remember how to get to the Boy’s Comfort Station, Magnus?

Yes Maam. Excuse me now. I shall return, anon.

Magnus headed off to perform his post dinner ablutions.

Meantime, the question on everyone’s mind, including Cerridwen, Blodeuwedd, Twrch Trwyth, and maybe Arianrhod, should have been, Can Magnus operate the wheel barrow? That’s what Magnus was focused in on while he was ensconced in the relative comfort of the Boy’s Comfort Station. Yet all those others had already skipped over that question. They were discussing their own business, attitudes and opinions. Fortunately, Magnus thought they were all discussing him. Otherwise, Magnus would have been too aggravated to perform his ablutions.

Anon, Magnus, bladder drained and hands washed, set forth from the Boy’s Comfort Station, headed back to the dining and gaming area and fetched up in the general vicinity from which he had only recently departed.

I am fixing to wheel or barrow that complex machine, Maam.

Good. Now Magnus, first you must pick up the handles. Then you push so that the wheel rolls and the barrow goes along at a good pace.

Magnus situated himself between the wheel barrow handles, looking forward in the direction he wished to propel the complex machine or wheel barrow. Yet looking down, he espied the noggin of Blodeuwedd, grinning up at him wickedly.

Maam. Your grand daughter is staring up at me wickedly, distracting me.

Blodeuwedd! Stop staring at Magnus.

Yes Granny. Tra-la-la, la-de-da.

How the heck am I supposed to accomplish this task, thought Magnus. First, Magnus reached up to the handles, his thumbs directed toward the supine Blodeuwedd and the anterior of this complex appliance. But Magnus was too short to do any good. Even with his elbows pulled up to the maximum height possible, the wheelbarrow arose, not at all.

Magnus! Crouch down. Then, once you have crouched down, reverse your thumbs, Twrch Trwyth advised.

Magnus crouched down. Then, reversing his thumbs, so that his thumbs were pointed rearward in the direction of himself, Mangus grasped the wheelbarrow handles, and strove to arise. But the wheel barrow only toppled over sidewise, dumping Blodeuwedd out.

Undismayed, the maiden component of the Triplet Goddess, Blodeuwedd, pronounced, See Granny, he’s just a baby.

But Twrch Trwyth believed in Magnus. Let him try again. Wheelbarrows are tricky. He just needs to get the hang of it.

So Blodeuwedd climbed back into the wheel barrow and sprawled out like before. Tra-la-la, la-de-da.

Now Magnus, advised Twrch Trwyth, be sure to push up with equivalent amounts of force on both handles this time.

Magnus thought, that sounds like good advice, but this time when he heaved up, Blodeuwedd dumped out on the opposite side from where She was dumped out of the wheelbarrow the first time.

See Granny. He’s just a baby. Lucky for me we are not dealing with a great height. Otherwise, I might descend more than a cubit and dash myself to pieces. Tra-la-la, la-de-da. Bodeuwedd climbed back into the wheel barrow.

Try again Magnus, Twrch Trwyth urged. A boy like you can do it. Concentrate. Remember, push up with the same force on both handles.

This is terrible, thought Magnus. The mass of that dang gal I am hopelessly in love with must easily exceed the mass of the pig, Twrch Trwyth, the very same pig that has only recently eaten up my cherry pie leftover. And still that pig has plenty of room for good advice. Mercy!

But then Magnus was hit by an epiphany. What would the Druids advise in this situation? Is there some rule or other that applies? Let me see.

Magnus thought and thought. What Druid rule applies, Magnus thought. I know, Magnus finally thought. If all else fails, throw yourself on the mercy of the WG.

Please, please Maam. I am too little to wheel this prodigious barrow, especially since this enormous wheel barrow is encumbered by your spectacular grand daughter. Please, please, merciful WG, assign me some other task, worthy of my keep. Like maybe I could guard the Rcs.

No Magnus. You must operate the wheelbarrow by yourself. If you do not operate the wheelbarrow by yourself, who will? And if the wheelbarrow is not operated, who shall refill Twrch Trwyth’s trough?

Well. Maybe Twrch Trwyth could go around and eat the leftovers off the tables. That way, the leftovers should not require wheeling and barrowing over to the trough.

You are forgetting, Magnus, that the paying customers may not wish to espy a pig eating off their tables. What about that, Magnus?

Yeah but, the fact remains, I may be too little to operate this wheelbarrow. We have here, what the Druids name, a dichotomy.

OK Magnus. Since you have thrown yourself on My Mercy, and since you have had a great many adventures and only one decent meal in all that time, I shall grant you a reprieve. Temporarily, I shall conjure you strong enough to operate the wheelbarrow by yourself. Note though, I shall not make you any bigger, only stronger, and I shall distribute that strength in accord with your standard bilateral symmetry. Now try again, Magnus, to operate the wheel barrow.

Again, Magnus knelt. Pushing upward against the relentless force of Upup, Magnus felt that the omnipotent Gravity God relax, slightly. There Magnus was, the handles of the wheel barrow on high, even up with Magnus’s chin, the great wheelbarrow wheel, ready to roll along.

Off we go, exclaimed Magnus excitedly. Then Magnus directed the wheelbarrow through a series of complex serpentine maneuvers all around the dining and gaming area of the WG Bar and Grill.

Mercy! Everyone hollered out. Magnus is our hero. Now Twrch Trwyth shall not starve this very night. Magnus can operate the wheelbarrow by himself. Yip! Yip! Yip!

But then Magnus had to go take a nice nap.

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Why is US still bombing our colony?

Good Goddess! Us have had our colony, miserable Iraq, for years. Yet US are still bombing the bejesus out of it, blowing it up. Maybe the bombing is like for urban renewal. Maybe one of our brave realtors wants to put up nice hotels, parking garages and golf courses in those locations getting blown up. But it is way cheaper for US to blow up those old buildings from the air, so the brave realtor gets the US government to blow them up. Run for it miserable Iraqis. You are in the path of progress.

Oh well. Not much most of US can do about that, apparently. So on to the interesting topic of flies. Flies, as everyone knows are my buddies. As I get to know those flies, better, I like some of them more and more. I especially like this one, a Trichopoda sp.

This one, when it is a baby, a maggot no less, reputedly parasitizes bugs, the very same bugs that eat my collards, maybe. I used to grow collards and the bugs would get all over those collards. Those bugs would eat up my collards. Also those dang bugs stink. Some of them, really stink. They stink so much that they would stink up my delicious collards, rendering those collards stinky and inedible. That stink some of those bugs do can last a long time, too. Once I handled one of those bugs and the stink hardly ever washed off. Mercy! So this fly is my friend.

Magnus the Busboy, Part I

Moon pies come from Chatanooga.

They do! Well, I am ready for some pie. No moon pie though. I shall have the cherry pie, but only if it’s tart, not too sweet.

Let me check on the cherry pie for you, Magnus. Arianrhod, honey, is the cherry pie sweet, or tart tonight?

It’s tart Mama.

Well then, bring Magnus a cherry pie. Would you like ice cream or cheese with your cherry pie, Magnus?

No Maam. Just the pie. Dairy products disagree with me.

While Magnus trenchered along on his cherry pie, Cerridwen, the senior most of the Triplet Goddess, explained to Magnus the various chores he was expected to perform in lieu of payment for his keep.

Now Magnus, busing tables at the WG Bar and Grill is really easy. That’s because all the drink, food, plates, bowls, cups, glasses, mugs, forks, knives, spoons, napkins and menus, once they have been used, turn into pig chow. So all you have to do is collect everything once a paying customer is done with whatever and dump it into Twrch Trwyth’s trough.

Yeah but, how am I supposed to tote it all over to the trough?

Easy that Magnus. You shall tote it over in a wheel barrow. Just mosey around with the wheel barrow and collect the stuff. Then once you get a load, dump it in the trough. Blodeuwedd, sugar, bring Magnus a wheel barrow.

Yes Granny.

Now Magnus, you may not be big enough to operate a wheel barrow by yourself. If you are too little to operate the wheel barrow by yourself, we may have to find some other use for you.

I knew it. I knew it. If I am too little to operate this wheel barrow, you are fixing to suck my blood after all.

No Magnus. For the last time, we are not fixing to suck your blood. Hmmm. OK Magnus, we may be fixing to suck your blood. But only if you utter the spell, fixing to suck my blood, once more. That’s right Magnus, if you speak the words, fixing to suck my blood, once more, even under your breath, then we shall suck your blood out, every last drop. And after all your blood is sucked totally out of you, you shall be loaded into a wheel barrow and dumped in the pig trough.

Mercy! OK. Maybe you are not, fixing to, uh. OK. But you may know yourself Maam that a boy such as myself that has been up for quite a spell and had a good many adventures and only one decent meal in all that time, may require a nap before he can do much in the way of wheelbarrow wheeling or barrowing.

That’s right Magnus, I know that myself, because I am the WG and I know everything. So once we espy whether you can operate the wheel barrow by yourself, you may go take a nice nap. But first things first. Here’s Bloudewedd with the wheelbarrow. Magnus, have you ever operated a wheelbarrow?

No Maam. But if your grand daughter can operate a wheel barrow, I certainly can.

No you can’t. You’re just a baby. You probably never even saw a wheel barrow before right now.

Yes I did. The Druids have wheel barrows over at the sacrificial mall just like this one. Only the Druid wheelbarrows are much bigger than this measly wheelbarrow. The Druid wheel barrows are maybe twice as big as this one. Then one time one of the Druids exclaimed, My back is killing me. One of you boys get on this wheel barrow. So then I climbed onto the wheel barrow like the Druid spelled me too and he gave me a nice ride around. I never understood how that ride comforted his back though.

See Granny. He’s just a baby and a terrible liar to boot. I bet he can’t operate this wheel barrow, ever. I bet if I got in this wheelbarrow, this baby could not roll it along so much as a cubit.

I bet I could. I bet I could roll you over and dump you in yonder trough next to where the pig is.

Then do it. Here I go. I’m getting in. Now roll me on over. Ha!

But I aint finished my pie.

See Granny. Magnus is just a baby, a little cherry pie sucking baby.

Bloeuwedd’s taunt infuriated Magnus.

I aint sucking on my pie. I am having my pie for dessert. Yet even though I may starve, I shall give up on my cherry pie for the time being just to show you a thing or two. You are a dang mean gal to taunt me so.

I am only mean to lying little babies like you, Magnus.

Dern it! Are you fixing to let your grand daughter taunt me so, Maam, before I finish my pie?

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Leaving Out Dr. Paul, are all the Republic Kinglet C’s, Skanky Old White Boys

Yes they are. Actually, Dr. Paul may be a skanky old white guy too. But he’s not an imperialist.

Nevertheless, the Republic (Mammonite) Party, has, as usual, put up a bunch of skanky old white boys as Kinglet c’s, only leaving out Dr. Paul because he is not an imperialist. I have studiously avoided commenting much on just what a bunch of skanky old farts the Mammonite cs are. Yet I find, I can’t help myself. There they are, a bunch of skanky old white boys. Jeez Louise!

Imagine, all of them sitting around in a sauna bath, bullshitting. Oh my Goddess! Is that sickening, or what? Just imagine the skanky old white boy bullshit they would indulge in if they thought the sauna bath was off the record. Oh my Goddess!

There they are, their skanky old white guy bosoms exposed in the sauna, their nasty old chest hairs damp with sweat, their nasty old bosoms heaving with chortles, chortling about screwing everyone but other skanky old white boys that happen to be rich contributors to their various campaigns. Uh! Mitt the Mormon, to his credit, might be embarrassed by the rest of them. But not embarrassed enough to stick up for the Angel Moroni.

Now to the point. Different ears hear differently. Mr. Obama actually startled the Druidry in these parts out of our natural satirical outlook on current events. Not because he spelled anything new and interesting, that’s impossible, but because he niggled us out of our usual patterns a bit, afflicting our different hearing ears.

You may see, that a great many of US, including the Druidry in these parts, feel left out. We feel that skanky old white boys are controlling US way more than their numbers, intelligence, ethics or whatever, merit. And we can not quite understand why this should be so, except for the privilege and money angle, all that inherited stuff.

Yet Mr. Obama spells you, meaning US, can rectify all that just by participating in the electoral process. Well, the Druidry in these parts do not think it is that easy. Yet, we are willing to give it a shot, for the sake of democracy. That’s because we would really like to see everybody, enfranchised and active. That would be interesting.

Here you have it. Throughout US history, the pattern has been, amazingly, more enfranchisement. First, black men got enfranchised. Then the ladies in general. Then US got shut of the poll tax so black people in general could vote in places like Mississippi and the Republic of Tejas (ROT). Meantime though, imperialism liked to exterminate some of my ancestors. But even those surviving descendants of some of my ancestors can vote these days, just like anybody else. So we can all vote, except for the illegal aliens in the ROT and elsewhere. Those illegal aliens can not vote. Yet those illegal aliens do most of the honest work, at least in the ROT, and elsewhere, maybe.

Uh! I feel like Mr. Obama got to my ears because he knows, somebody besides skanky old white boys bullshitting in a sauna, ought to get some spell. Yes. He knows that intuitively, because he is sort of black, black enough. Even though, Mr. Obama has probably never had a real job, or had to rough it.

But that’s OK. He still got to my ears. Because, Druids feel like the time is long past when skanky old white boys should have all the spell, inheritance, privilege, rule.

The same sort of feeling, sort of, caused me to feel really sorry for Mrs. Clinton when she cried on TV. But then I remembered, Mrs. Clinton, unlike Dr. Paul, and maybe, unlike Mr. Obama, is an imperialist. Oh well. The Druidry advises, ignore your feelings, if you feel like using your enfranchisement to screw somebody far more miserable and worse off than yourself.

Ray's Rainfall Update - 0.02"

Yet we enjoyed the first sprinkle of DY 2 this morning. Later, I shall espy whether any of the sprinkle accumulated in the gauge.

Meantime, Rayetta multi-tasks while performing her morning ablutions. Turns out, the shut door to the Lady's Comfort Station is no barrier to the booming voice of the Crumby Ovate.

Rayetta, did you know that if we got an official dedicated flash for your camera, that flash would also work just as efficaciously on my camera?

Yes, Crumby I know that. However, I also know that you would somehow accidentally break the flash, within weeks of its arrival. What would be the point of my sharing a broken flash, that I paid for, with you?

No, no, no Rayetta. It wouldn't be like that. I have changed. Look how long my camera has stayed fixed, weeks already. Then too, we would not necessarily have to rely on the fact that I have changed, and am, these days, especially careful with the electropictoid equipment, handling all that equipment, exclusively, with kid gloves. No. You could keep the flash under your personal supervision. Then, on those rare occasions when I actually wanted to use the flash, I would come begging it off you, hat in hand, tugging away at my forelock. But as an extra safeguard, you or Raymone could supervise me as I employed the flash on my trusty camera.

Not only that, I can get a good deal, maybe a once in a lifetime deal. Plus, I bet a dedicated flash would help you with those birds too, Rayetta. Those birds need to be lit up.

Hmmm. I'll think about it, Crumby. Now go away.

Yeah but, the once in a lifetime deal expires anon, Rayetta.

I said, I'll think about it. You better go away if you know what's good for you. Now!

OK. I'm going away now, Rayetta.

Jeez Louise!

Meantime. Ray has updated the rainfall total for DY 2. See title. DY 2 may be a heartbreaking year for many in the Republic of Tejas. What if the drought is followed by a black kinglet? Can the ROT do business with a black kinglet?

Well, that depends on how much actual change the ROT rulers are willing to share with the rest of US. Not much, I reckon.

Rayetta’s Butterflies and Birds (Class Aves)

The butterfly situation at the CB, so far during DY 2, is bleak. Butterflies do not like cold, dry, windy, and bloomless. Therefore, butterflies are in scanty supply in these parts. Even yesterday, Day 15, which was warm, dry, windy and bloomless, produced only one butterfly, a sleepy orange (Abaeis nicippe). The sulphurs, including the dog faces and oranges are pretty tough and tolerant of environmental conditions that dismay other butterflies.

Anyway, it is a very bad year for butterflies in these parts. So in lieu of having any butterflies around the CB to study, I am studying my butterfly electropictoid collection from last year. Here is one of those. Long have I perused this one, trying to decide if it indicates a Celia’s roadside-skipper (Amblyscirtes celia) or a dotted roadside-skipper (Amblyscirtes eos). I have now decided it is the former. That’s my hunch. If correct, adds a species to the CB total for DY 1, running the total up to 71 species.

I do not understand why there were so few roadside-skippers apparent at the CB during DY 1. Perhaps, like the ubiquitous snout, they are biennials.

Rayetta’s Birds (Class Aves)

Meantime I have engaged myself in the frustrating business of documenting the occurrence of birds (Class Aves) at the CB. Yet as Mr. Smarty Pants, Crumby, spells, What’s the point? Anyone can tell them at a glance.

Hmmm. Maybe so. But they are good to practice on with the 70-300mm, maybe. Maybe, because my birds are little, move around a lot, hang out high up in the trees and seem to stick to the shadows like glue. Or they manage to put a branch between me and them. Then too, they seem to show up when it is almost dark. All these factors combine to make for a challenging electropictoid taking environment.

The usual bunch in this category at the CB this time of year are Carolina chickadee, black-crested titmouse, rck, orange-crowned warbler and yellow-rumped (myrtle) warbler. As Crumby opines, All can be told at a glance. Nevertheless, I have been practicing on them with poor result. Even at 600mm, the 70-300mm fully cranked out, I tend to get about 90% habitat versus 10% bird, the bird is in the shade, and it is nearly dark. Hopeless, or nearly so.

We also have two woodpeckers, the ladder-backed and the red-bellied. They behave better than the littler ones so I have been practicing on them too, with slightly better results. Then there is our mockingbird who likes to pose, the blue jays that go to the bird bath and pose, the wary cardinals, Bewick’s wrens, Carolina wrens, the red-tailed hawk and the black vultures that occasionally sit around and pose, the hoards of white-winged doves that crap weed seed all over the place, the hoards of great tailed grackles that come into the house to eat the pet food, the starlings and the English sparrows. I need to practice on all those, plus a few more, even though, all can be told at a glance.

Hmmm. Perhaps I shall command the boys, Build me a tree house, worthy of the Lovely Druidess! I could use my tree house as a bird blind. Except that, those cultivar pecans are possessed of weak branches. I might find myself cast down from a great height, tree house and all. Can’t have that!

Ray’s Thought for the Day - No rain in these parts, Plus, Jim Dandy Grits

The season, Polaris or Polar Bear, that stretches across both DY 1 and now, DY 2, has been rainless or essentially so, and the DY 2 component is completely sear. So the rainfall total for DY 2 stands at 0.00".

Dang it! No seed wants to begin life at the end of a water hose. It’s unnatural. Seeds have told me personally, Ray, We don’t like it when you toss us out on the ground, then hose us. Soon as you hose us off, and most likely forget about us, we may dry out before we germinate. Then the mice eat us.

Maybe I shall prepare some flats for my seeds. Yet that is lots of work. Plus, the annuals, my main concern, seldom prosper in flats. Oh, they may come up in the flats all righty then, but soon as I transplant them to a new home, they die. Then once I espy that they are all dead, my conscious pesters me. Ray, why do you murder all those cute little plants? They never did anything to you. All they ever wanted to do, was please you and help you. Yet, you murdered them all. Why did you do that Ray? Why? Why? Why?

Dang it! Well, as my sister generally advises in these situations, Do something, Ray. What I may do is think about this conundrum some more. That’s it. While I am enjoying my delicious cinnamon bun, anon, I shall think upon this conundrum, exclusively, except for remembering to chew.

Spelling of, remembering to chew, I shall now, shamelessly endorse my favorite brand of grits, Jim Dandy Grits. Jim Dandy Grits are fortified with iron (Fe). See. You can espy that spell on the box. Yet when I tested those grits with my trusty magnet on a stick, not one grit stuck to the magnet. Where’s the evidence for the iron fortification that helps the little children?, I wondered.

Once upon a time though, Karl the Tracker Druid told me this incredible story about this friend of his who forgot to chew. Apparently, this friend of Karl’s was dining on delicious Jim Dandy grits when he was struck by an epiphany and forgot to chew and swallow. The epiphany lasted so long that eventually the grits set up like concrete in this boy’s jaw, rendering him almost entirely speechless. Because he couldn’t explain himself, it took a long time for this boy’s friends and family to figure out what was wrong with him. Then, once they did eventually figure out that Jim Dandy Grits were set up like concrete in the boy’s jaw, it took everyone a while to figure out what to do. What are those grits soluble in?, everyone wondered.

Turns out though, Jim Dandy Grits are soluble in Dolmen Stout. But this boy had to hold the Dolmen Stout in his mouth with the grits for days on end before the grits finally dissolved. During all that time, while the grits were eventually dissolving, all the boy’s friends and family kept after him with good advice. They all kept going on and on. From now on you need to chew your food properly then swallow it on down as soon as it’s chewed up. Otherwise you shall find your jaw locked up again. Do you want that to happen? Course you don’t.


The boy began to worry. What if all this good advice kills me before the Jim Dandy Grits dissolve? Yet no one ever died from good advice, maybe, or at least nobody, the boy in this example. No. That boy, eventually, survived both the Jim Dandy Grits and the good advice.
____

Electropictoid credit: C. Ovate and C 5060 WZ.

Magnus Finally Gets His Hamburger

Magnus, despite his nice private bath, was still worried. What if those ladies are fixing to drink my blood after all. What if my hamburger’s not ready? What if that pig has deserted me? What if that pig really is just a sissy? What happens when I turn up at the sacrificial mall with a big, sissy pig? Woe is me. I am undone once those Druids get a hold of me. These were the questions Magnus fretted over as he made his way back to the dining and gaming area of the WG Bar and Grill.

Still fretting, Magnus arrived at the dining and gaming area. The pig, Magnus noted, was neck deep in the stale beer trough, slurping it in. Great! That pig shall be too inebriated to piggy back ride me back to the sacrificial mall. Look at him. Great! Now he’s actually climbing into the trough. Mercy! He has laid down in the trough, full length. There he lies, slurping away.

Twrch Twryth, arise from that trough, yer liable to drown! advised Magnus.

Nay Magnus. The level of the beer is below my snout so I shall not drown. Yet I am weary and unsteady on my trotters. So it is better to drink this way, so that I shall not topple over from weariness or unsteadiness.

Right! Now you shall get another bath, too. Say. Where’s my hamburger? Where’s my Jumbo RC?

Over here Magnus.

Mercy! The old lady was hollering at Magnus.

Come over here, Magnus. Your hamburger shall be up in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. It shall beat you to the table if you don’t hurry.

Magnus hurried on over.

Have a seat Magnus.

Yes Maam.

Magnus sat down.

All righty. Here come Arianrhod and Blodeuwedd with your grub. Just in the nick of time.

I reckon. Say. Where’s the Tabasco? I generally get a little Tabasco on my hamburger. What’s your name by the way? Are you kin to these other ladies? Look there. That is a delicious looking hamburger. Look here. French fried potatoes and grits. I may eat those grits up first. Mmmmmmm. Where’s the Tabasco?

Arianrhod had to go fetch some Tabasco for Magnus from behind the counter. In the meantime, the old lady set about answering Magnus’s other twain queries.

Magnus, my name is Cerridwen. Arianrhod, that is fetching the Tabasco, is my daughter. Blodeuwedd, here, is my grand daughter. I am the proprietress of this establishment. Together, we three, make up what is known as the Triplet Goddess.

Mmmmm. Do I get refills on the grits? Mmmmmm. RC. There’s nothing like a delicious RC when a boy needs to wash down some grits. These grits are delicious. Just like I like them. Not the least bit runny with plenty of salt and pepper. So after I am full of grits is when you all are fixing to suck my blood out. Right? Actually, I would prefer to have some of my hamburger first. That may be the biggest hamburger I have ever espied. Mmmmm. It shall take me a while to finish off this hamburger. By then yall may have forgotten that you were fixing to suck my blood. Mmmmm.

Magnus surmised, having heard of situations similar to the one he now found himself in, that any eventuality might be delayed by a last meal. Then, once the delay lasted a good while, a fortuitous distraction; eclipse, earthquake or such, would allow the recipient of that last meal to escape fate, entirely unscathed.

Magnus. We are not fixing to suck your blood.

It’s the bloodshot eyes, pallid skin, and hocus pocus that spooked him Granny. He’s just a baby.

No I aint! I am six years or more out of the gunny sack. I aint no baby. Can I have some pie for desert?

Yes Magnus. You can have pie. What kind of pie would you like?

What kind you got?

Well, we have chocolate pie, custard pie, lemon pie, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, rhubarb pie, strawberry pie, peach pie, apple pie, coconut creme pie, mincemeat pie, blueberry pie, apricot pie, cherry pie, buttermilk pie, peanut butter pie, shoo fly pie, sweet potato pie, raisin pie and moon pie.

Is the moon pie, home made?

See Granny. He’s a baby. He doesn’t know anything.

No I aint. I just don’t know where moon pies come from. Reckon I could get some more RC?

Blodeuwedd. Go get Magnus some more RC.

Yes Granny.

OK Magnus. We are not blood suckers. All that is illusion. We just put on the blood sucker guise for the poets. The poets expect us to look like blood suckers.

They do? Why?

As compliment to their self torture. They must torture themselves to get the best out of their art.

That makes sense. Mmmmmm. Here’s my RC refill. So how do yall appear, normally?

Anyway we want to appear. Fact is, we are all fixing to put on our normal appearances for the paying customers. And you, Magnus, shall have to earn your keep. You Magnus, shall bus tables this night at the WG Bar and Grill.

Yeah but, where do moon pies come from?

Ray's Thought for the Day - How could Iowa be more boring?

I know. PETA could free all the pigs in Iowa. Then all the candidates could commiserate with US about what a dastardly deed that was, freeing all the pigs in Iowa. That would be even more boring, not the free pigs, but the candidates commentary on same.

I bet not one of those imperialist Kinglet candidates would opine, You know, having all these pigs loose all over Iowa is pretty funny. No. It would be, Oh my Goddess, the loose pigs have got in the ethanol seed corn. Those pigs have et up all the ethanol seed corn. Goddess damn those pigs!

No, no, no. It is not the fault of those innocent pigs. The pigs did not eat up the ethanol seed corn, PETA et up the ethanol seed corn.

If I am elected Kinglet, I will make Goddess damn sure, that every farmer afflicted by this attack on our civilization and lifestyle gets a subsidy check for the ethanol corn, no matter that the pigs ate the seed corn and the crops never got seeded out.

Well, if I am elected Kinglet, I shall send those farmers bonus aggravation checks to cover the emotional loss they obviously suffered.

The rest of you assholes are forgetting, the pigs are still loose. If I am elected Kinglet I shall procure a loan from Red China. Then once I get that loan, I shall hire private contractors plus all my relatives to round up those pigs. Then those pigs shall be housed in FEMA trailers until their rightful owners show up. Fear not rightful owners. I shall cut through the red tape, so you will get your pigs back fairly expeditiously.

And so it might go.

Ray's Thought for the Day - Druid Calendar for DY 2 - Upcoming Events

Mercy! We survivors are well on our way around Ogma Sunface, again. Through the perilous depths of outer space we go, surrounded only by the vast stygian darkness of outer space, plus moonlight and the twinkle of the stars and the reflected light of other planets located near these parts.

The remainder of our upcoming journey is diagramatically represented in this electropictoid. Once again, a three gallon plant bucket serves to represent the stygian darkness of outer space that we are traversing, even now. Alas, I am not sure if it is the same bucket I used for DY 1. That bucket, the DY 1 bucket, may have got made into three fifties of hot shoe covers for the cameras.

Okie Dokie. Here the calendar events are.

Important Calendar Events for DY 2, Plus a Transliteration of those Events for those still afflicted with the Julian.

Day 1 - Polaris or Polar Bear Solstice - December 22
Day 42 - Imbolc - February 1
Day 85 - Last Day of Polar Bear - March 15
Day 86 - First Day of Hope Remains - March 16
Day 132 - Beltane, Last Day of Hope Remains - May 1
Day 133 - First Day of Beelzebubberiffic - May 2
Day 183 - Beelzebubberiffic Solstice - June 21
Day 223 - Lugnasad - August 1
Day 299 - Last Day of Beelzebubberiffic - October 15
Day 300 - First Day of Olwen White Track - October 16
Day 315 - Samuin - October 31
Day 347 - Last Day of Olwen White Track - November 30
Day 348 - First Day of Polaris or Polar Bear - December 1
Day 1 of Druid Year 3, The Polar Bear or Polaris Solstice - December 21

See dudes and dudettes. Full Circle!!!

Ray's thought for the Day - More Progress - Polistes exclamans

Besides the Diptera and the Coleoptera, we are making some progress with Hymenoptera. The paper wasp, Polistes exclamans,probably, builds a nest just inside the cross bar of one of the clothesline poles. From there the wasps fly out. Last year, several of them got bushwhacked by robber flies. This one got bushwhacked by a green lynx spider.