Weevils

I have been doing camera practice with the Raynox 150 on a 40-150 kit lens. That combo may be OK for weevils if the weevils hold still and there is not too much wind. For focus, I try to bob forward and back to get in the ballpark. Then once I espy the target I use S-AF+M to sort of focus. This methodology works the same in live view or using the optical view finder. However, either way, it's pretty much a crap shoot. Sometimes AF works. Sometimes it does not. A tripod might improve the situation if I could put up with trying to shoot bugs with a tripod.

Seems the working distance at the long end, which also provides the highest magnification, is about a foot. A foot is very far compared to where one is using the ZD 35mm. With that, you are very, very close.

I have taken maybe 30 photos with the Raynox kit lens combo. I am not especially happy with the results because the shallow depth of field is so consistently annoying. On the other hand, this weevil shot, bad as it is, would be totally impossible with any of my other equipment.

Yes. It's better to have a bad weevil picture than no picture at all. Especially since this weevil may be identifiable.

The Sotomayor

Whoa! The following contains language unsuitable for almost everyone. Plus, the feelings expressed may have had some Old Crow spilled on them. Still, the following shows just how strongly a drunk pagan may feel with respect to the apparent total lack of heathens on the Supreme. My hope is that some of the Supremes may be closet heathens or pagans at heart.

Unlike the vast majority of ignorant assholes that inhabit this land of Americano bullshititis retarditis, Druids worry about like the religious apportionment on the Supreme. So what’s coming down is six Papists, two Jews and one Protestant, maybe. What kind of bullshit is that, dude? One maybe Protestant!!!! Given that bullshit, there ought to be at least one Druid, or at least one Wiccan type witch on the Supreme. Dig it, dumb butts! There ought to be at least one Pagan of some Pagan persuasion to balance out all those mackerel snappers. Jeez fuckin’ Louise.

Yes. You Protestants are no longer protecting the poor Pagans from the Pope. The fact is, you dumb fuckers can’t even protect us from the Jews. So screw you ignorant limp dicks in your nasty profligate Roundhead rears. From now on, the Druids do declare, you Protestants are worthless and impotent. We are joining up with the atheists. Maybe they can protect our religious freedom. Certainly you Protestant limp dicks can’t. You are certainly worthless pieces of shit. You dirty, nasty asshole, limp dick mother fuckers!

Dern. OK. The Druids humbly implore that the atheists and maybe agnostics join together to protect the Druids from the Catholics, Jews, and impotent Protestants. Yes. Please save us from extinction. In return for saving us from extinction we shall help you ignorant atheists and sissy agnostics to appreciate the likelihood of the White Goddess and others of our deities such as Upup (Ooopoop) the Hermaphroditic God or Goddess of Gravity. OK?

Achtung Migrants, Bring Your Own Water

Everyone knows that the carrying capacity of these parts is shot. Could these parts produce enough food to feed just the local fat people, much less everyone else? The answer is obviously, course not. No. These parts must import mass quantities of food to keep everybody fed, overfed, or fed up.

One reason these parts can not keep everyone fed is the unreliability of the dern rainfall. The unreliability of the dern rainfall means dry land farming is risky, too risky. So when it comes to farming, only the irrigated prosper.

The fact is, only the irrigated prosper in general. A reflection of that is the mass quantities of water the rich get to put on their yards and into their swimming pools via irrigation. That’s plenty of irrigation water. Me too. I irrigate as much as I can afford. How else are the flora and fauna around here fixing to get a nice drink?

Plus, everyone knows it’s getting hotter. The heat is terrible. That terrible heat combines with ridiculous late spring frosts to shorten the growing season in these parts to about six weeks. That’s right. If you dry land farm in these parts, you have from about April 7 to May 20 to get your crop in.

The terrible heat increases the demand for irrigation water. Yes. The hotter it gets, the more cool water everyone wants. Me too. You too. That’s why, on a hot summer day, I worry that my portion of the cool water may be evaporating. Sorry Mr. Ovate. Your portion of the cool water, evaporated.

No wonder then, considering the necessity of irrigation, that the Lower Colorado River Authority (LCRA) felt obliged to weasel out of their deal with the San Antonio Water Systems (SAWS). The LCRA had to weasel out of that deal. Yes. Had to. Why? Everybody with a lick of sense knows there is fixing to not be enough cool water to go around. Everybody knows.

The fact is, almost everybody knew that back when the feasibility study for off loading my cool water onto some rich bastard lard ass migrant’s future yard in Boerne first got proposed. Everybody knew that except water engineers. Water engineers talk to Jesus. Jesus talks to water engineers. And Jesus told the water engineers, I Jesus, shall provide plenty of water. All you water engineers need to do is locate or dig out some new holes to store all the plentitude of water, I, Jesus, shall miraculously provide.

Yes. Jesus promised the water engineers that precipitation was fixing to increase in these parts. So LCRA could easily, as a consequence of a projected supernatural increase in precipitation, provide all the water a rich bastard lard ass migrant to Boerne might wish to dump on his yard or golf course. Yes. Jesus proclaimed to the water engineers, all these holes or pits you find or dig out shall be filled plumb full of cool water. I, Jesus, advise ye, hire the Mexicans to start fixing to lay pipe.

Meantime, I, Crumby Ovate, actually got a little chump change for expressing my opinion on the feasibility. As usual, prior to expressing my opinion, I asked the WG for guidance. Please WG , I asked, is this project, feasible.

No Crumby. This project is not feasible. This project is a ring dub for water engineers.

When asked my opinion, alas, I could only repeat the words of the WG. This project is not feasible. This project is a ring dub for water engineers. I might have got a little more spare change charge time for some other opinion. But for the most part, not entirely, but for the most part, consequent of that opinion, I was spared the aggravation of mucho association with Christian water engineers. Praise the Goddess!

Dern Juju Bwana

Back when the semi-trusty Olympus 5060WZ was the main camera in these parts, I ordered a Raynox 150 closeup lens. To get the Raynox 150 to fit on that camera, you need to use a step ring on an extension tube or maybe just a step ring. Anyway, the Raynox combined with that camera is plenty hard to focus. Not impossible, but plenty hard.

But the weird part of this story relates how Pope what’s his name hired witches. That’s right, that old Pope stooped low and hired witches to mess me up. That’s after all his prayers to Jesus had no effect.

Everyone knows how witches can’t resist commercial activity, a big difference between witches and Druids. Druids are practically immune to commerce. The Pope, knowing that witches have a weakness for commerce, hired three witches to cast spells against me. And those dern witches were more than happy to take the Pope’s money. Can you believe that? Pagans turning on a fellow pagan for a little spare change. Dern witches.

Well, those dern witches are not kindly witches. No. Those dern witches are not kindly and friendly WG worshipers. Instead, those witches are affiliated with the Demon Mammon. So no wonder those particular witches so easily took the Pope’s money. Not only did they take the Pope’s money, they actually took the job seriously. Those tripartite evil witches that are also succubi of the Demon Mammon cast a spell at me, Crumby Ovate, innocent Druid.

What was the nature or function of that particular spell that evil threesome of witches sent at or sicced upon me? Well, first of all, everyone probably understands that spells work poorly when directed at Druid Ovates. That’s because a Druid Ovate nearly always knows what’s coming. A pretty good Ovate like myself, fully aware of what may be coming, can then easily deflect most spells. However, one can generally not think of every little thing. Every once in a while, considering the huge volume of evil doer spells cast my way, some little tag along or other is bound to get through my defense-noid-o-rama-bait. Yes. An evil spell of small magnitude may get through, thus rankling even me.

Those evil doers, those witches that hath beslimed even the very Demon Mammon, those whores of the Pope in Rome and of Babylon, those whores that cozened with the naughty ministers of the apostate English king, yea verily, those same whores or witches that may be fixing to beslime a great many of the secesh Republicans, and those some whores that were in competition in Sodom and maybe Gomorrah, almost got me. Whew! It could have been worse.

OK. What happened to me was pretty bad considering I didn’t even get beslimed. Only a tiny amount of juju bwana afflicted even me. See the associated photograph. That photo shows the Raynox 150 inserted in its Raynox 150 to lens adapter. The latter lens adapter is inserted in the old version of an Olympus 40-150 kit lens. So inserted, the kit lens is metamorphosed into a macro lens, possibly in the ballpark of the Sigma 105mm. Focusing, still, pretty much sucks.

Yet, whoever said focusing a camera for macro should be easy. Nobody I am aware of, said that. So fuck that dude. Get over it.

Hold it! I have clean forgot what?

Oh yeah. So the tiny part of the spell that got to me had to do with making me stupid about the Raynox 150 to lens adapter. Because that adapter did not originally work with the C 5060WZ, I figured, or was led to figure by those evil witches or whores, that the adapter was good for nothing. Like, they made me believe the adapter was included in the box with the Raynox 150 either by mistake, or, they made me beleive that its functionality was incomprehensible to mere mortals.

Many moons passed like years. Still I never figured out what that adapter was good for. Every once in a while during that long, sad interval or time lapse, I would take that adapter out and examine it. What’s this good for? I would ask myself. I enjoyed squeezing the springs, but I could never figure out, What’s this good for?

Then yesterday the spell was broken at last. The dern juju bwana evaporated from my noggin and eye sockets. Hark, there on the internet was a picture of a Raynox 150 and its adapter. Lookee there. It is adapting to a variety of lenses of various diameters. Oops. I have some of those lens diameters my own self. Goddess damn that Pope that afflicted me so with a tri-witch curse so that I could not sooner espy out this situation.

Mercy! I had to tape some tp over the flash to get this indoors picture.

The Most Handsome Fly of the Season

As everyone knows, I, Ray Pistrum exhibit a fondness for flies. So fond am I of flies, that for that reason alone, fly fondness, I am considered unique among examples of Class Mammalia. The fact is also, like poor Mider, I have previously, actually fallen in love with an actual fly, not merely flies in general.

Fondness for flies fixated upon me. I went to work in the laboratory. I surmised, a sweet pomade on my pompadour should attract just the right sort of flies. There in the laboratory I labored, day and night. The only breaks I took were lunch breaks and a 15 minute break approximately every four hours. I also took off weekends, secular and religious holidays and a vacation or two. But the rest of the time, except for sick leave, I focused on the pomade, except when I was asleep. That’s right. Even a Druid scientist working on a pomade must sleep. I had a cot in the laboratory.


After like many moons and quite a bit of suffering and frustration I finally came up with a pomade that was close enough for government work. The ingredients are secret but I can allow that the secret ingredients include the aromas of seven flowers from these parts that are white or lavender in color and includes Hedyotis nigricans. But that’s all I can legally say about the various pomade ingredients. Next door is an artist’s conception of my pomade at work.

Then also there is a photograph of an actual better class of fly the lucky user of my pomade is liable to attract. Alas, I have no idea what species of fly this fly is. However, its actions and thoughts seem wasp like. This fly is the handsomest fly of the season. Cylindromyia sp.

To Be Fair

Huh-huh. Actually, fairness is over rated. I was fixing to ovate that some of the crazy retards may not be card-carrying Republicans. That’s undoubtedly true. But so what. Who cares, because when a crazy retard like the Boner gets to talk on the TV and says, The CIA would never lie to Congress. Huh-huh. We (the Congress) would cut their funding and fire the liars. Huh-huh. All the other crazy retards have trouble competing.

Jeez Louise! Then there’s Chitlin Cheney, and, Chitlin Cheney’s fair daughter. Why does Chitlin Cheney’s fair daughter get to be on TV, so much? Was the fair daughter socked in with Chitlin at those secret locations for lo those many years, learning craziness from the master? Why is the fair daughter on TV? What does the Chitlinette know, that I don’t?

Chitlin is unusual among the Republicans. Chitlin is crazy as a Betsy Bug, but only slightly retarded. Plus, the mild retardation Chitin does exhibit is obviously due to excessive self-inflicted craziness, or maybe demonic possession. Probably, Chitlin’s fair daughter saved Chitlin from total retardation. How has the fair Chitlinette saved Chitlin? Easy that, the fair Chitlinette is a full time Sodomite. Oh well. To be fair she may be a mixed Sodomite-Onanite. Yet for all practical purposes, a full time Sodomite in the family works like a charm against total retardation, maybe. On the other hand, and leaving aside the distraction of the Onanites, if the fair Chilinette held membership in the potentially sexually active, silent majority of part time Sodomites, Chitlin would undoubtedly have drifted off into the muddy waters of total retardation, just like his buddy, Rumpler. But he didn’t. The fair Chitlinette worked like a charm.

So, to be fair, maybe the fair Chitlinette gets to be on TV because she saved Chitlin from total retardation

Finding the Middle Ground with Crazy Retards

Exactly how does that work? Well, say you want to find the middle ground with a crazy retard who believes the Earth is 9,876 years old. What are your options for compromise? Uh. OK. Maybe there aren’t any good options for that one.

What if though, the crazy retard asserts big government is bad, while at the same time socking away a nice salary, swell benefits, and probably kickbacks, provided by that same bad government, directly or indirectly. Not only that, that particular crazy retard has made a career of government service for like, forever, and all that time bad mouthing the hand that feeds him. What’s the middle ground for compromise with that crazy retard?

A crazy retard desires to pack in the national park. The crazy retard may say, It’s my right to carry a gun all the time. It’s my right, guaranteed by the Constitution. I should get to wear my gun all the time everywhere, like at college, or at the park. What’s the compromise with that particular crazy retard?

What possible employments might a crazy retard make of his right to bear at the park. What, in general is a gun good for, generally speaking, and maybe also from the perspective of a crazy retard. Well, you can shoot targets, animals and people with a gun. Also, a crazy retard may intimidate and terrorize with a gun. Who? Naturally, it may be necessary to intimidate and terrorize other actual crazy retards or potential crazy retards (everyone else).

There may be laws against shooting animals in wildlife refuges, maybe. Or at the least, one might figure or hope that the shooting of the animals in the wildlife refuges is somehow regulated by the laws of the land. So, if a crazy retard shoots an animal in a park, one might suspect that might be against a law, a law that is sometimes enforced, maybe. But what if the animal allegedly started it, by attacking the crazy retard?

Sadly, crazy retards routinely get attacked by wild animals. You know, attacked, especially by peccaries, racoons, possums, pigs, coyotes, snakes and such. The fatalities among the crazy retards incurred just by small mammal aggression are fantastic. No wonder the crazy retards feel like they need to pack in the park.

Then there is target practice. Crazy retards love target practice. And where better to target practice, than a nice, big park, with plenty of little furry or feathered targets.

So what’s the compromise? Allow the crazy retards to pack in the park, but make it against the law for them to shoot anything?

Naked Planets Cavort in Eastern Sky

This morning a great many of the naked eye planets were, well, naked eye visible to the respectably bespectacled. Jupiter was up in Capricorn. Moon, Venus and Mars formed up as an almost isosceles triangle in Pisces. No doubt about it, these were the fairest lights in these parts, this morning.

So, rumor has it that the Republicans are looking for a new image to help them shed the retard image. Say! How about adopting a planet into the platform? That’s right, Republicans need an official planet to show they are hip to like the solar system. Not only do they need an official planet, they need a planet that’s normally invisible and therefore, slightly mysterious. Yet the official Republican planet needs to be plenty homey as well.

Obviously, there is only one planet that meets all those criteria, especially now that Pluto is no longer an option. And that planet is, of course, Uranus. Now, if only all the Republicans would immigrate to Uranus. Hold it! Maybe the Republicans have already immigrated to Uranus. Seems like the Republicans may have already stuck it to the national Uranus.

Some Southern Globular Clusters

How long has it been? Let’s look it up. OK. April 22, 2009 of the Julian was the last date any average amateur astronomical activity occurred at the CB. That’s almost a month. That’s also why average amateur astronomical activity is thin gruel as a stand alone hobby. An average person could go nuts waiting to have a little pleasure in life or to spice up one’s lifestyle while hoping yet patiently waiting for a handful of stars to become visible. Yes. If average amateur astronomy was a person’s only pleasure in life, then that pleasure would occur only at fairly long intervals, maybe.

Fortunately, Druids train themselves to have plenty of hobbies. That way, one’s lifestyle or way of life may include a great many pleasurable stimuli from a variety of stimulations, not merely a handful of stars. Yet last night, that mere handful of stars took precedent.

A hobby may have special rules known only to the enthusiast or practitioner of that particular hobby. Last night, the big rule was, the Great Red Tube shall not be moved until it goes back inside. Which meant, that if I played by the rule, I had to work fast to espy the various globular clusters before they went behind a cedar elm.

Them ol’ elums. That’s right, them ol’ elum trees. Got to espy the globular afore it goes behind that ol’ elum tree.

Huh-huh. Who, these days, pronounces elm, elum? Not many, I swan. These days, many are such dumbasses. All one hears is Jesus this, or Jesus that. Dumbasses!

Anyway, there are a goodly bunch of Messier globulars hanging low in the southern sky, hanging out, up yonder like bunches of mustang grapes, the vines of which have climbed on up into the old elum.

I espied eight before I quit on my old nemesis M14. These were the ones I espied. M4, M19, M62, M9, M80, M107, M10 and M12. That’s twain quartets for the Crumby Ovate.

Of these, all are visible in the finder except M107. That’s why M107 is M107. The vertical band of stars in M4 was particularly impressive this night at 100x, 12.5mm UO ortho.

A Butterfly Challenge

This morning, the Media Liberal or Media Conservative biased paper had its annual, count the birds article. You know, describing how a team of super birders counts as many birds as possible in competition with other super birders, on the honor system. Yes. Birding contests rely on the honor system. Does the system work? Maybe, maybe not. If maybe, then birding contests are atypical, considering the general Americano lifestyle or way of life.

OK. Since the birding contest article is sort of about nature and the honor system, our newspaper is obviously a Media Liberal outfit for running such a biased article in the first place. Counting birds on the honor system is seriously candy ass, generally speaking or observing. But leaving aside the obvious sissy sucking or titty baby article bias, how about a butterfly challenge?

That’s right, a butterfly challenge, though likely to include some sissy sucking, might at least be designed to eliminate the challenge Americanos encounter when it comes to personal honor and lying. Yeah buddy, verily!

Right! So the main rule in the butterfly challenge is the contestants or sissy suckers need to provide digital images with exif data on all their butterflies. Whichever team of sissy suckers gets the most independently verifiable butterfly species photos, wins. Course the sissy suckers have to give their opinion on the species depicted first, before the photos are submitted to the higher authority or responsible party. Then, if the sissy sucker identification is incorrect, that team loses two points for that particular failure or mistake. Ha! Seriously incompetent sissy suckers could actually wind up with a negative score. Negatory good buddy! Ha!

Or, if nobody, not even the higher authority can identify the butterfly correctly, because the picture is so shitty, then that picture loses three points for wasting everyone’s time.

Anyhow, there ought to be a butterfly challenge. Like here’s an example of a butterfly challenge picture. Sorry, no exif here. Anyway, I would submit this photo to the higher authority or responsible party as (Colias eurytheme), maybe. Or, I would not submit this one because it might be a hybrid or a (Colias philodice) and I would not be sure and I would be afraid of losing two or three points, jeopardizing my teams efforts at winning the contest. See! What a bunch of sissy sucking fun a butterfly challenge might be!

We Need, More Seed

Well, the CB is down to two (Ipomopsis rubra). Which means, somebody is fixing to have to leave the relative safety of the CB to get some seed. Which also means, somebody needs to figure out where some seed is so that the authorized seed collector does not spend the rest of her or his life out in the dern wilderness.

This is the smaller of the twain survivors. This flower color is fairly unusual.

Maurandya antirrhiniflora

Casual observation indicated that not much was pollinating the CB snapdragon vines. The fact is, casual observation indicated nothing at all for pollinators. Therefore, I, Crumby, took it upon myself to watch the snapdragon vines until a pollinator came along. That took a while.

Yes. Snapdragon vine is introduced to the CB. So is the soil it’s growing in. No wonder then, there aren’t many pollinators. Yet eventually a pollinator turned up. Here is a little bee that turned up to pollinate the snapdragon vine. This bee is fixing to entirely disappear inside the corolla. After a while, its duty done, this bee shall come on out.

Catching these bees is easy once they are inside the corolla. What you do is, use both hands, one hand to hold the corolla tube shut, the other hand to pinch the flower off the vine. Then, you have your bee trapped and ready to go. Yepper. You shall have a tiny yet aggravated bee on your hands.

Who’s to Blame

Too often, Druids blame Roman imperialism for all our troubles. I say, we need to stop blaming the Romans and get on with our lives. Yes.

Here’s an example indicating why blaming the Romans may be a waste of time. A while back, evil doers may have rustled Karl’s pet mule, Ajax. You know, Karl the Tracker Druid.

Prissy, Karl’s smart saddle horse reported Ajax missing. I just don’t know, Karl, he was in the pasture last night, standing there under the horse apple tree. But when I went to look for Ajax this morning, he was, sob, gone.

Correct. All the Druids at the Joke Factory went out and verified that Prissy’s account was essentially correct. Ajax was gone. Yes. Ajax should have been in his accustomed spot, dreaming of mule world under the horse apple tree. Yet all that remained of Ajax was a little semi-fresh mule shit

Normally, Karl is all business when anything or anybody goes missing. But this time, it was Karl’s own beloved, personal pet mule that was missing. Karl was beside himself with the loss. Karl could not think straight. Tears clouded Karl’s manly eyes. Then, blinded by tears of rage or sorrow, Karl threw a temper tantrum. Goddess Damn Romans!

Among Druids, blaming the Romans may actually be contagious. So pretty soon, all the Joke Factory Druids were throwing a tantrum. Yes. There they all were, hopping around under the horse apple tree, mad as hatters. Goddess Damn Romans!

Only Prissy kept her wits. So it was Prissy that first espied Ajax. Yes. There Ajax was, happily grazing along over yonder, across the freeway, munching up great wads of sticker burrs from the bar ditch. Yes. Turned out that a consultant forgot to lock back a utility access gate on the property. Ajax, noting the open gate, escaped, and headed for greener pastures across the freeway.

It’s a wonder that mule didn’t get hit by a car, many commented.

Annual Summer Weather Ovation

Polluted Nights Plus No Rain Neither

Rumor has it that all this crap blowing up from the south may be blamed on the Mexicans. That’s right. The Mexicans are reportedly doing the slash and burn thing. So the night sky in these parts on the one night this month that has been clear so far, night before last, was actually not clear at all. Murky!

Besides the Mexicans, there are plenty of other nasty fuckers south of here to blame for all this pollution. The fact is, there are so many nasty fuckers everywhere in these parts, there is plenty of blame to go around. Yes. We need rain. Instead, we get pollution. Where does the pollution actually arise from? Easy that, all the nasty fuckers are giving off tremendous volumes of pollution. Gross! Hand me my oxygen bottle.

Simultaneous with the dearth of rainfall, Beelzebub has descended upon the land. Yes. It is hot and fixing to get hotter and hotter. Anon, many shall cry out, Jeez Louise, it’s too hot for man or beast. But those pitiful cries shall arise to the high heavens in vain. For only the air conditioned shall prosper. And the air conditioned are the very nasty fuckers putting out all the pollution, heating the place up, and chasing off the rain. Truly and verily, all these nasty fuckers are fixing to fuck themselves. Me too.

Euphoria

If you happen to be Euphoria kerni, an Opuntia lindheimeri flower is all you need for a party. Get down! Yes. Pheromones on your carapace, told a tale on you.

Euphoria parties are slightly confusing for outside observers or voyeurs. For example, which ones are the boys? Which ones are the girls? Notice the color variation.

Yes. Intraspecific fornication is bad enough. But interspecific fornication is worse. No wonder the Christians decided insects, just like angels, lack souls.

No. There is no point sending a missionary to those Euphoria kerni. They lack souls. Lacking souls, they can’t be saved.

Yet these heathen beetles are doing something right. Every cacti blossom is full of them. Squirming heathen vermin.

Chocolate Covered Jacks

But are they safe? Seems like chocolate covered jacks are really dangerous.

No. They are not dangerous. These chocolate covered jacks are perfectly safe. They have been approved by the EPA. Tested on both toddlers and puppies, simultaneously, and found to be perfectly safe. There is nothing wrong with these particular chocolate covered jacks.

Umm! Chocolate covered jacks are delicious and fun. First, you suck all the chocolate off. Then you play, jacks. But you also need a rubber ball to play jacks. Yes you do. So before you play jacks, suck all the delicious cherry candy off the rubber ball. Then you are ready to play jacks.

OK. And for older children and maturer dogs, our chocolate covered jacks and candy coated rubber balls include a special ingredient, birth control medicine. That’s right. Now the young ladies and lady dogs have a fun and convenient way to help you and society, help them, avoid unnecessary pregnancies.

WARNING!!!!

Chocolate covered jacks, candy coated rubber balls and convenient birth control medicine may be illegal in some states, but not all states. Some states may tax this product. Others may not. Here’s how to find out which states do what. Go to the internet and search for chocolate covered jacks. Order yours today!

Is Church Like Torture?

Many may presume that a pagan Druid like me never went to church. That may be because many may believe that pagans are sure to suffer death in an actual church. Yes. Those pagans either convert on the spot or miraculously expire, usually bursting into flame when approaching within 10 meters of the pulpit.

All that may be true. That’s why a pagan Druid like me who has been to church lots of times is hard to explain. But the solution is simple. I converted to the Druidry mostly after I went to church. That’s right. Course necessity has had me back in church once or twice since my conversion. How did I keep from bursting into flame on those rare occasions? Well, I pretty much stayed in the back more than 10 meters from the pulpit. Also, the WG cloaked me in invisible armor. My invisible armor, a gift from the WG, protected me from all the Christian wickedness. Nevertheless, that armor had two disadvantages. I got a little hot, and it did not protect me from boredom.

Naturally, I whined to the WG about the armor. Please WG, why is my armor so hot. Also WG, despite my armor, I can still espy plus hear the boring proceedings. Is my particular armor defective? Please WG, fix my armor!

Turns out the armor is designed only to keep pagans from actually getting snuffed in church. The WG explained it this way. Crumby, if I gave you invisible armor that kept you nice and cool and allowed you to entirely ignore the proceedings, what might you do? I know you Crumby. What you would do is go to church to rest up, ignoring your Ovational duties until at last you would be spending too much time napping at church. Can’t have that!

Naturally, the WG’s explanation about the armor made perfect sense. But then I got to thinking about all the miserable times I endured at both church and Sunday school prior to my conversion. Yes. I suffered a lot. How many times did I think, Will this be over any time soon, ever?

So when the Media Liberal latched on a poll that correlated positive attitudes toward torture with lots of church attendance I was not surprised. That’s because church made me suffer. I figure if the Goddess had not saved me, I would have continued suffering miserably in church. After awhile, I would have been so miserable from enduring all the suffering, that I would consider torture no big deal. Go ahead, torture! I don’t fucking care.

Yes. Eventually, if I had gone to church long enough, I probably would have gotten so miserable that I would have welcomed a little personal torture myself.

Yes. I’ll do it. I volunteer for the Baptismal font. I’ll tell you anything you want to hear. Praise Jesus!

Another Shameless Product Endorsement - The NeilMed Concept

What a great concept! The concept is to use a squirt bottle to squirt salt and baking soda up your nostrils in a nice, warm water solution. The rinse washes out the nasty air pollution particles, pollen and germs you have breathed into your several sinuses. Those nasty airborne particles, if left alone, are bound to lodge in your sinuses and then combine with nasal hairs and boogers to clog you up. But not if you wash them out of there with the NeilMed Concept.

Plus, you can do the rinse as many times as you feel like. Normally, I rinse twice daily. But if I feel like I have been subjected to worse than average pollution, or I have more or bigger boogers than usual, I may rinse up to four or even five times a day.

Man alive! There is nothing like a refreshing rinse. Plus, an experienced NeilMed Concept person may resist water boarding far longer than an average terrorist who has not first prepared for water boarding, training with the NeilMed concept. Yes. Average terrorists the world over use NeilMed squirt bottles to simulate drowning. What you do is inhale deeply when the solution squirts in. That way, the solution shall permeate the deepest recesses of your sinus type orifices.

Yet the fun has only begun. Typically, lots of the rinse gets trapped in the various sinuses. Then, when you least expect it, that rinse or fluid may rush out when you or some other person is least expecting a nasal gusher. I have already alluded to my adventure in the grocery store. That particular nasal gusher landed on a lady’s naked foot.

So I am dang prepared for a water boarding session. Or would be, but the idea of a bunch of strangers holding me down seems like way worse torture than the actual water boarding. Get your hands off me, you nasty fuckers! Hold it. I am losing my drift.

OK. Anyway, the NeilMed Concept gets another shameless product endorsement from the Druidry in these parts. Yes. Our endorsement, quantified, is like about 110%.

Genus Acmaeodera

Sing, Cry me a river.

Oh well. Confidence for a species level determination is low. These big ones with the white spots are more than a centimeter long.

Yes. In the spring these buprestids assemble at the Cow Barn by the dozens, hundreds, or sometimes, a tousand or maybe two tousand. Then, once assembled, they eat up the Oenothera speciosa. They eat the Sisyrhynchium pruinosum. They eat the Lindheimera texana. The fact is, they eat a lot of the flowers. They eat them up.

Here is another Acmaeodera. Sing, Cry me a river. This one is littler. Less than half the size of the other one, with orange spots.

Are Angels, Insects?

Maybe, maybe not.

The theory that angels may actually be insects is plenty troubling. But even more troubling is the uncanny resemblance Cephenemyia bot flies bear to Mallophora robber flies. I mean, honestly, is there any way to tell them apart, without sticking ones finger in their mouths? Or, sticking ones finger where a mouth ought to be.

Yes. The existence of Cephenemyia bot flies created a panic of one in these parts. Once I discovered that such hideously deceptive insects existed, I turned to the internet to discover additional important information about Cephenemyia bot flies. Like I wanted to know how big they are compared to Mallophora robber flies.

Yet the internet provided no help. So now I am left to wonder if some of my pictures identified as Mallophora robber flies are actually Cephenemyia bot flies. Jeez Louise!

One fairly rare member of the genus Cephenemyia is the schwinehoont bot fly which exclusively parasitizes those humans also known as schwinehoonts on account of their uncanny resemblance to dog-pig hybrids. Here’s how the schwinehoont bot fly normally infests the hapless schwinehoont.

The schwinehoont must, first of all, be naked from the waist down and unwary. That’s because a wary schwinehoont might notice a bumblebee sized fly buzzing around its rectal or vaginal opening. But once an unwary host is selected, the female bot fly lays an egg or two near the vaginal or rectal opening of the host schwinehoont. The male schwinehoont bot fly, worn out from its recent copulatory antics, generally naps nearby.

Pretty soon the egg or eggs hatch out. Then the larval bot wriggler gradually worms or weasels its way up and into the beckoning orifice. Once inside, the bot wriggler, depending on its habitual circumstance, either attaches to a turd, or to an embryo. In the former instance, if it attaches to a turd, it gets shit out and happily lives in the turd until it has eaten up the entire turd. But then, after the bot wriggler has eaten up the turd, the bot wriggler undergoes a final metamorphosis. Once that final metamorphosis transpires, that individual is an adult, and ready to have its picture took. If the bot wriggler attaches to an embryo, it develops along with the embryonic schwinehoont. Once the baby schwinehoont emerges into the light of day, the bot fly wriggler has simultaneously undergone its final metamorphosis and is ready to assume its duties as the guardian angel to the young schwinehoont.

For a long time scientists speculated that but a single species of schwinehoont bot fly existed. But now, scientists surmise there may be at least three species of schwinehoont bot fly, only one of which actually, eventually produces any guardian angels