It Aint Over

Here most of us are, conscious or nearly so, on the eve of a new year as the Julian Romans reckon it. Course Druids already started the new year back on the Winter Solstice. But that’s another story. Let’s just consider Julian Roman time.

We’re livin’ on Roman time,
Livin’ on Roman time.
Quack, quack, quack, quack, - oh quack - quack.
Quack, quack, quack, quack, - oh quack - quack.
Cause we’re livin’ on Roman time.

What a great song that was! Plus that song hints at the antiquity of the Julian Roman calendar, stretching as it does all the way back in time to the birth of the Baby Jesus. When did Baby Jesus become Baby Demon Mammon according to the Julian Roman calendar? That’s a good question, but Druids surmise that happened when Ike Eisenhower, the old general was president. Yes. Ike warned us about the Baby Demon. Oh yes, Ike warned us all. But by then, the president was old and feeble. Yes. Ike was old, feeble, worn out from too much golf, incapable of fending off the Baby Demon by himself. Incapable, by himself, of sparing us Americanos a headlong rush to demon worship. So Ike’s warning fell on deaf ears or was totally ineffectual. Mercy!

Early this morning Crumby groggily apprized the editorial page of the Austink Stinker. Therein, Crumby discovered that the previous decade, Julian Roman time, was a plenty rotten weenie according to the featured pundits.

Hmm, thought Crumby. These pundits have it all wrong. The last ten years have been swell for many. Like Chitlin Cheney, for example, had a great decade. Anytime a war criminal gets to skate with the loot, that’s great on a personal triumph level.

Yes. Many besides Chitlin prospered. The mysterious or poorly understood Americano ruling class generally prospered. Yes. The bankers and the brokers and the gun thugs that they hired, all made out swell. Correct. It was a terrific decade for the many individuals in those ruling class subsets.

All righty. Not all did poorly. The fact is, very wicked elements of the ruling class consolidated plenty of wealth and power, plus set the stage for consolidating plenty more wealth and power, all the remaining miserable wealth and power, in the upcoming decade of the Julian Roman. But that’s OK.

Because: We’re livin’ on Roman time!

Say though. There are still a few hours left. Hope Remains! We could turn this thing around before midnight. Huh-huh

The Blue Steeker

Like when Crumby’s 70-300mm arrived at the CB, it had a steeker. The steeker is here depicted laterally. Have you ever been queried? Got any steekers? But what exactly are steekers?

Steekers are like spells printed up on paper. The back side of the paper the spells are printed on is covered with glue. So those spells may, due to the glue, be ultimately affixed to some surface like maybe a camera lens or a hard hat for example. If it’s a hard hat we are considering, the number of steekers may correlate to the many adventures of that particular hard hat. Headache! Uh-oh!

The particular steeker here seen affixed was deliberately stuck on at the factory. That’s correct. This steeker was not added by Crumby. This steeker is an official Olympus steeker.

The purpose of this steeker is educational, instructing the knuckle head consumer respecting the 2x fl multiplier of this 4/3 lens. However, this particular lens model, the 70-300mm is the only one, to Crumby’s knowledge, that ever came with a steeker. How weird is that ?

Consider these facts. The cheap 70-300mm lens is tied for most mms with the super expensive $6000, 300mm prime. Does the 300mm prime come with a steeker? Hmm. Alas, Crumby also wonders if all the 70-300s come with a steeker. Hey! What if Crumby’s is practically the only one that came with a steeker? What if Crumby’s steeker is a collector item?

Anyhow, these days one may purchase a brand new 70-300mm for about $250 or even less. Crumby paid more. But do the new ones have a valuable steeker attached? That’s what Crumby wants to know.

Also, are steekers sort of white trash? Hold it! Crumby does not mean that stickers are automatically white trash everywhere. But Crumby does wonder if steekers are white trash on camera lenses. Like, should Crumby take the steeker off his lens?

The Mistletoe Mystery

As has already previously been explained in this tome, the white mistletoe berries are the same difference as the threefold or triplicate natures of the White Goddess (WG). To briefly recount for the many slow or dim witted, the berries are white and like there are three important layers to the berries or as some might say, drupes. So those fruits are almost just like or the same difference as the WG, literally as well as symbolically.

But mysteries aside, notice how the little white fruits below are all pretty much in focus? That’s how Crumby likes photos to look, with most everything in the photo, in focus. If mass quantities of the photo is out of focus, that’s just a waste, much like driving a car around dopey Austink is a total waste of Crumby’s time. In other words, who needs a bunch of dopey out of focus bokeh. What good is it?

Let’s consider an example of what Crumby might consider an optimal type photograph. Let’s say there is a large bush. Huh-huh. No dudas, not that kind of bush. Instead, you know like a bush that may have some flowers and bugs faunching around on the flowers. Well, what if you could take a close up picture of that bush with just about all the flowers and insects in focus. Crumby thinks that would be seriously cool or swell if he could do that. So Crumby wants a lens and camera that will focus at about 3mm and keep all the stuff in focus for about a half meter behind the initial 3mm. Is that possible? Seems like not much to ask.

Now, getting back to the sacred berries on the sacred parasite. Reckon those berries might work for lady’s jewelry. Like they could be put in the shellac, then drilled and strung on a wire. Or how about mistletoe hats or tiaras? Those might be popular.

Many are Thankful

Yes. Many, and not just Druids, are thankful dudas today, having survived another Baby Demon Mammon Day. That’s because the Baby Demon can take a terrible toll. Did you know that more dudas cash in or peg out on Baby Demon Mammon Day than almost any other day, maybe? Seems likely.

OK. Back to work.

These parts suffered yet another hard freeze last night. So how did the frostweed respond? It did it again. That’s three times the same frostweed has done it, for Goddess sakes. However, it did it less than before maybe. But that may be because the rain has stopped and there is less soil moisture. Who knows? Compare and contrast the three pictures of frostweed doing its thing.

Also, Ray and Crumby had a mistletoe cutting left over from Winter Solstice so they stuck it. Here that is. This may be fixing to be the first ever, free living Phoradendron tomentosum.

There’ll be Peace in the Valley for Me (ferme), Someday

What do we want? Peace

When do we want it? Someday

Where do we want it? In the valley

What a great song reflecting as it does, dudas yearning for peace. Mercy! That particular song plucks at the heart strings of the Crumby Ovate. Yes. It is a song that juxtaposes the yearning many have for peace and the probable reality, no peace or scant peace.

Peace in the Valley also poses a Druid Dichotomy. Which would you rather be, at peace, or alive? Disciples of the Baby Demon Mammon do everything they can to make sure there is no peace on this plane of this tiny planet many call Earth. That’s right. No peace and no rest. Those Mammonites not only preach no peace on Earth, they practice no peace on Earth too. No peace. No peace. No peace. No peace.

However, those same Mammonites do offer salvation. You want peace do you? You shall get plenty of peace when you’re dead. Buh-huh-huh!

Mercy! Should the Druid dichotomy, Which would you rather be, at peace, or alive?, stagnate for eternity without resolution as the Mammonites frolic and tiny Earth groans under the long Mammonite hegemony. Course not. Course it shouldn’t.

Therefore, the Druids seek to promote peace everywhere. Like if a Druid has a dog and a cat, it is the responsibility of that Druid to make sure those pets don’t fight. Also consider restrooms. Druids believe every duda should have a peaceful and quiet spot to go to the restroom. Yes. A peaceful quiet spot where that duda can have plenty of peace and quiet and won’t disturb any of the other dudas in the area. Perhaps that is why Druids prefer a sound proof restroom with an air suctioning device in the ceiling.

Many may at last come to understand that the resolution of the dichotomy, peace in the valley, is a dudas personal responsibility. For example, Karl the Tracker Druid once landed an interesting yet lucrative consulting job which eventually led Karl to the peaceful valley. The job involved tracking down this duda who totally ran off into the woods. That duda had a major head start on Karl, so by the time Karl tracked the duda down, that duda had already embarked upon a peaceful existence as a solitary bee.

This is how that hermit survived in the wilderness. That duda had, previous to running off, designed a lifetime supply of bee suits or costumes. That’s correct. The duda dressed up like a bee. Plus, since duda had plenty of spare suits, duda could just change suits when one of those bee suits wore out.

It took Karl a while to track the bee hermit. First, Ajax wouldn’t come out of the barn. Then, Prissy threw a shoe. Then it turned out that the only blacksmith in those parts was situated in the same municipality as one of Karl’s former wives. So they all had to go visit with her. Then Ajax wouldn’t come out of that lady’s barn either.

By the time Karl got back on the track, the bee was pretty well set up as a peaceable solitary bee or hermit bee. Yes. That particular bee was well accoutered, living off the fat of the land, replete with nectar and pollen, making honey.

Karl’s job was, of course, to bring that bee back to the bee’s loving family and companions, chores and responsibilities and what not. However, the bee explained, No Karl, I shall never go back with you. I have finally found some peace, here in this valley.

But Karl has never ever, brought back nought of what he sought or called off a consulting job due to failure. So Karl says, You have to come on back with me because otherwise my reputation shall be entirely sullied plus I won’t get paid.

Back and forth the twain of them fussed, both Karl and the bee. Yet the bee told such a piteous tale of a miserable former life without any peace whatsoever, compared to how happy and peaceful was the bee’s new life, that at last, out of pity and total sadness, Karl relented.

But says Karl, We shall have to come up with some indisputable proof that I actually found you. My reputation as a Tracker Druid is at stake here. Boo-hoo-hoo. Nobody shall ever hire me again. I shall fix to starve. I shall have to eat Ajax first, then Prissy.

Yet the twain of them, both Karl and the bee, began to negotiate what evidence might serve as proof that Karl had actually found the wild bee. After awhile they agreed that a lengthy notarized account of the bee’s recent activities, an 8x10 color glossy of the bee in a bee suit, and a jar of honey would suffice.

After that, the hermit or wild bee went back to his new peaceful existence while Karl returned to civilization bearing incontrovertible evidence that he had actually tracked down the missing bee. Everybody was happy and satisfied after that including Ajax. The fact is, Ajax was super worried that Karl was fixing to eat him and that’s why, when they were all supposed to saddle up for the next job after the bee job, Ajax wouldn’t come out of the barn. But as time passed, and Ajax didn’t get eaten prior to more jobs, he still refused to come out of his nice barn. It’s all about peace, dudas.

Now to shift gears, slightly. Did you know dudas, that the famous verb virgin, known to the semi-smart as frostweed or even freezeweed, may do its thing at least twice in one season. Goodness! Check this out. It is the same verb virgin previously featured, oozing again today. Don't believe Crumby, check out the post on 12/05/09.

Pray for Peace

What do you need? Name your poison?

I’ll have a shot of irony. Mmm-boy. That was delicious. Let me have another. And another. One more makes four. There now. Four’s plenty.

Seems like on the eve of Baby Demon Mammon Day, some pray for peace. Even Druids pray for peace on Baby Demon Mammon Day Eve. Like Mr. Red Ears, Senor or Senior Druid at the CB, orders everyone to assemble under the live oak (Quercus virginiana) for sentence prayers. Though the prayers are only supposed to be one sentence long, like for example, Please Goddess send me some peace and quiet!, many get carried away, praying paragraphs, pages, chapters, whole dern tomes.

Crumby secretly believes that any duda that prays more than a sentence is putting on airs. Plus Crumby also believes that standing under the live oak, with his arms uplifted to the high heavens, listening to long winded sentence prayers is not peaceful. Crumby’s arms start to hurt. Crumby is bored. Crumby wishes he could do something else. Crumby wishes he could be somewhere else. Crumby asks the Goddess, Merciful WG, could you please either make them shut up or whisk me entirely out of here, dang it?

But the Goddess does nothing to help Crumby. No. She leaves him there under the live oak, arms aching, outstretched to the high heavens. Even Ray lets Crumby down. Yes. Ray prays two sentences. No. No. Now it’s Rayetta’s turn. No. No. No. No.

This agonizing festivity or ceremony starts out benignly enough. The fact is, it starts out really fun. Really fun because at first all Crumby has to do is climb up in the Celtis laevigata to cut the Phoradendron tomentosum. Crumby climbs on up, his trusty hand snips situated in a handy pocket. Then, once Crumby reaches a likely knot of the sacred parasite, he hand snips it. Then Ray is supposed to catch the rapidly accelerating mistletoe before it hits the ground.

Once a bunch of mistletoe is thus obtained, Crumby and Ray haul it over to the live oak. There amid the boughs of the live oak, Crumby and Ray tie on the mistletoe. The best string for tying up the mistletoe in the live oak is dental floss. However, dental floss is not mandatory. Any string will do. But dental floss works best.

Alas though. Once the mistletoe gets tied up in the live oak, the fun is over and the sentence prayers begin.

Interestingly, if the Cow Barn was situated within the range of Phoradendron villosum the fun part of the ceremony would be toast. That’s right. Phoradendron villosum actually grows on oaks. So if the CB was out in that habitat, the sentence prayers might commence without the fun preliminary. So Crumby does get some peace from the absence of Phoradendron villosum.

Everybody Loves Rapistrum

These parts have been subjected to several nights of hoar frost that some call hard freeze. Which means, not much is blooming. But if you are a hardy Eurasian weed like Rapistrum, a freeze or two may not put you off your plan for the future. Like here we see Rapistrum in bloom, replete with potential pollinators on this very day, of DY 4.

Interestingly, as almost everyone knows, Crumby’s bosom companion, Ray Pistrum, was named after the weed here depicted, Rapistrum rugosum. Sometimes Crumby affectionately addresses his bosom companion, Ray, as Rugose Ray. For example, Want to play horseshoes, Rugose Ray?

Alas, the three friends of Rapistrum rugosum shown, may be difficult to get to species. So this post is more ecological than nomenclatural.

Dark Day Dudas

Camp down races five mile long dudas, dudas. Camp down races five mile long, oh-de-dudas-de. Hark! Crumby tries out his new word, dudas. Works great!

Outside the day is still plenty short. Moreover, blanket upon blanket upon maybe a quilt, blanket, uh, Ogma, so that it is dark like when dudas are actually under some bed gear like maybe playing tent in the bed. Well, maybe not that dark but probably too dark for dickie bird photography.

That’s right. The usual suspect, winter, omnivorous dickie birds trooped or flocked into the deciduous hedge row on the west fence line this morning. The flock was typical for this nonce, titmice, an orange crowned warbler, an rck or two and a solitary vireo. Of all these dickie birds, the solitary vireo is the most likely poser.

So did Crumby already mention the light conditions outside, dudas? He did. Yet the Olympus E 330 with and the 70-300mm are probably not on the short list for professional dickie bird photographers’ equipment. No. Pros would choose gear that actually goes above ISO 400 and actually auto focuses.

Nevertheless, at this nonce the trees and shrubs are leafless. That means the little dickie birds are easy to espy. But to make up for that, those little dickie birds only come over when the thick clouds blanket the CB. For that reason, Crumby has never ever, obtained a usable picture of, for example, a titmouse. Ridiculous!

Those titmice never stop hopping, ever. But never mind those titmice because Crumby did manage a usable first best photo of the semi-elusive solitary vireo. F8, 1/80, 200ISO.

A Long Night, Literally, Dudes And Dudettes

Since last night was Winter Solstice Eve, one of the penultimate long nights, plus generally clear, Crumby stayed up. Yes, anticipating clouds on Winter Solstice Night, the longest night, oh ye dudes and dudettes, Crumby stayed up last night to gaze on heaven, instead of tonight, when, should he gaze up, Crumby should espy naught but foolishness. OK. Dudettes may not be an actual word in the English language. Plus, always spelling out dudes and dudettes to keep from appearing sexist is fairly cumbersome and a waste of time, even for Crumby. Yes. All that spelling of words that are not English anyway threatens to corrupt the simple soul of the Crumby Ovate, once and for all. Can’t have that. So Crumby has concluded that when the twain sexes require a reference, dudas shall do. So given dudas, our title would then read: A Long Night, Literally, Dudas. Additionally, the term dudas could reasonably cover the sexually ambiguous or even hermaphrodites, or even trimaphrodites, etc.

All righty then gentle dudas. Today is the shortest day of the year. That means everyone in these parts can cast a long shadow but not far or for very long. Like dudas, if you are maybe midgets, you should go outside and cast a giant shadow now. Yes. Today, of all days, is your big chance to cast a giant shadow even if you may be midget sized.

In retrospect, last night was a nice night to stay out in the back yard. The temperature never dropped much below freezing and the dew didn’t get to be problematic until around 4 AM. The skies were practically clear all night except for some clouds off to the north. Nice, I tell you, nice. That said, Crumby still could not espy M108, M109 or M95. Though the night was nice, it was not that nice. No night can be that nice over Austink.


Lo and behold. The Winter Solstice is upon many. Praise the Goddess!!!!

How Many Syllables in Baby Demon Mammon?

Can you count up to six? The correct answer is six. So perhaps the only actual good to come from Baby Demon Mammon is, his name. Quite so. Baby Demon Mammon's name may be employed as a mantra. Yepper. Baby Demon Mammon has that much in common with Naja Bullah Zazi, Obi Wan Kenobi and Zuben El Genubi.

Boy howdy! During these hard times with the Vitamin D shortage escalating like a crazy escalator raring up into the high heavens, and even a Druid Holy Man like Crumby mixing metaphors, a feller can easily need or require more than one mantra. So here we have four potential mantras, courtesy of the Crumby Ovate.

However, honestly, Baby Demon Mammon may not be a mantra that you want to recite out loud in public places. You may wish to keep Baby Demon Mammon as your secret mantra.

That’s right. Last night Crumby went to a feast. At the feast Crumby stuffed himself much like the butcher stuffs a sausage. So Crumby thought to himself, Man Alive! I should not have eaten all that. Now I need to do some exercise to burn off all those extra calories. But first I better rest up in the orgone box awhile.

Yet even the orgone box could not put Crumby totally to rest. No. Crumby meditated fitfully, if at all, as he slept. Plus, Crumby dreamed. Yes. There was the Baby Demon Mammon in Crumby’s dream. Crumby, explained the Baby Demon Mammon, you should have eaten up another piece of pecan pie. Also, did you see that some pie was left over? Why didn’t you bring one of those left over pies home? I, Baby Demon Mammon, feel like you could have done a lot better at the feast than you did, Crumby.

But Crumby spelled against the Baby Demon. Nay, Baby Demon Mammon, I ate plenty. Too much in fact. Before my nap I had to take Alka Seltzer, always an indication of over indulgence. Also, I shall barely be fixing to waddle along out into the terrible wilderness any minute. What if a predator attacks me while I am so full? What then, Baby Demon Mammon? What then?

It’s true. The Baby Demon is no true friend of the Druids. He is constantly fixing to trick an average Druid like Crumby into overeating or drinking too much whiskey or gulping down huge volumes of delicious ale. And those are just for examples of the many tricks the Baby Demon may play on an average Druid similar to Crumby.

Go on Baby Demon. Go on, unless you figure to join me out in the freezing cold of the stygian darkness. Yes Baby Demon, I am headed out into the freezing cold wilderness for a little aerobic exercise. Not your melieu, is it Baby Demon! Ha!

Crumby was exaggerating slightly. Looking at the naked celestial wonders through a telescope may not be considered aerobic by many. Nevertheless, the Baby Demon is such and such a lazy and easy little cuss that the mere notion of cold combined with aerobics scared him off. So then Crumby was actually free to go off into the frigid wilderness accompanied only by a small dog and a medium sized cat. But soon Crumby had to make his little pets go back in because it was freezing cold outside.

Jeez Louise! It’s colder than a Wiccan’s twain tittys out here, Crumby cried out. There’s ice on everything. But only the naked wonders of outer space heard Crumby, or, if anyone else heard him, they didn’t let on. Yet Crumby also heard, or figured he heard, various noises and maybe voices crying out in the frigid, stygian or neo-stygian darkness.

Evil doers are fixing to get me, Crumby concluded from the scant evidence, noises and voices.

Yet Crumby can be fairly round chested. Besides, Crumby had a hand pick and a hand gun, handy, on location. Do your worst, evil doers. Come on. Come ahead on, Crumby thought to himself. That’s right. Though Crumby was fairly well accoutered, he did not wish to actually provoke the many evil doers lurking in the back yard. No, Crumby surmised, I’ll be peaceable if they will.

To sum it all up, early this morning was a wonderful night to espy M81 and M82, the latter impossibly elongate in the polluted skies of Austink.

Eventually, one, even a Druid like Crumby, must arise and face Ogma. To honor Ogma, Crumby put out a rotten mango for the vermin. This action also honors Her, the WG, so everyone is a winner, except maybe the Baby Demon. Yet only the meanest and most ornery of all the bugs, except for flies, like mangos at this time in these parts. Mercy!

Sprechin Sie Deutsch, Dumbkopf!!!?

Just for example, tonight, Crumby is expected to attend a gigantic Baby Demon Mammon supper or dinner. Mammonites reference this activity as a dinner while a tiny minority in these parts cling to calling it a supper. Mercy!

Anyway, Crumby is sending his friendly spirit, Zomby Crumby, instead of attending in person. That's because Zomby Crumby only speaks German. The fact is, Zomby Crumby only speaks German to non German speakers. Sprechin Sie Deutsch, Dumbkopf!!!?

You may see, boys and girls, that later in life some may no longer have much to say in public that the public may want to know about. And what those elderly individuals do have to say is universally embarrassing. What does Crumby mean by the term, universally embarrassing? Well, universally embarrassing commentary makes insects ashamed. Those insects, like even bugs, are like ashamed of millions of years of evolution just because of what an old person similar to Crumby may enunciate in public. Those bugs, having innocently listened to an old person like Crumby, may wish they were dead!

Yes. Dead! Dead and gone from this woeful, tiny, miserable planet. Anon, Crumby is fixing to head out. But actually, only Zomby Crumby, not actual Crumby, is heading out. That's right. In fact, Zomby Crumby is fixing to head out to a Baby Demon Mammon supper tonight. Oh my Goddess!

OK Zomby Crumby. Remember Zomby Crumby, you shall only speak when spoken to, and you shall only reply in German and then only to non-German speakers. Do you understand all that Zomby Crumby? Ya! Also, you shall need to bring me back a nice Baby Demon Mammon supper. But you can never trust that the responsible parties shall provide doggy or Crumby bags. Therefore, you shall have to take along one of these grocery bags. Yes. Instead of wolfing up all the food yourself, Zomby Crumby, you shall save some of all the delicious items for your master, actual Crumby. That way, once you get home, actual Crumby may also enjoy a Baby Demon Mammon supper.

Baby Demon Mammon Day

Holy Hindu Cow! The religious holidays are upcoming thick and fast. No sooner are weary revelers done with one, than here comes another. Whew! Mercy! Like just next week the main holidays are Winter Solstice and Baby Demon Mammon Day. But one of the great benefits of Druidism is, Baby Demon Mammon Day is optional. Well, maybe not optional. Unfortunately it’s fairly hard for even a Druid Ovate like Crumby to entirely dismiss Baby Demon Mammon Day. That’s because Baby Demon Mammon is just plumb integral to the Americano economy and way of life. Yes. Even for a trained Druid like Crumby, the Baby Demon Mammon is quite impossible to completely ignore.

Even so, Crumby fixes to encapsulate himself against the spirit of the Baby Demon. That’s right. Immediately following the Winter Solstice, Crumby employs self hypnosis to limit his senses or various sensory apparatus to one third of normal efficiency. The mathematically inclined may thus know, for example, that Crumby only hears 33% of the noises he would normally hear. Plus, the noise Crumby does hear is mostly like white noise. The same is true of Crumby’ vision. Only colors in the easy eye part of the visual spectrum are espied by Crumby. Neither can Crumby smell perfume when he is thus hypnotized.

Now, a 67% deadening of his nerves is what Crumby accomplishes for the many hours adjacent to Baby Demon Mammon Day. However, on the day itself, when Baby Demon Mammon worship is most frenzied, Crumby may have to enter into an actual coma for a few hours just to get some peace. If Crumby is lucky, he may be at home at the CB on Baby Demon Mammon Day. In that event, Crumby can climb into his orgone box for a little peace. But more probably, Crumby may be off on a terrible journey, the friendly confines of his orgone box, a distant memory. That’s why, when anybody meets Crumby out and about on Baby Demon Mammon Day, that person may assume Crumby is a zombie. It’s not the real Crumby, it’s Zombie Crumby.

Winter Solstice is Upcoming

Winter Solstice, the most important traditional Druid holiday between Samuin and Imbolc is next week. To celebrate the upcoming, Crumby Ovate is fixing to go festive doing what Ovates do, ovations. That’s right. An ovation or two may help offset the obtuse shortage of Vitamin D which is also a tradition in these parts at this particular season.

Here we go.

After Winter Solstice, tiny Planet Earth shall tilt upon its axis slightly. Once that happens, Ogma’s rays shall zip on through the atmosphere more efficiently. Anon, the current Vitamin D shortage shall be as a fog enveloped memory of some Alzheimer’s afflicted old timer. Yea verily, everyone shall temporarily forget the Vitamin D shortage just as those old timers forget this or that. Instead, problems with the air conditioning and irrigation shall trouble many. Yea verily, many shall wrinkle their brows. Why do many fret so? Easy that, the AC could break down again, or the irrigation could get shut off. Goddess forbid that either of those twain potentialities actually transpire. Mercy!

Then also consider the national scene rather than these parts, merely. Barbers shall seal the fate of progress in the nations’ capital. Yes. Those barber’s shall shave heads just like the sheep are shorn at Imbolc. Yea verily, the inevitable slide into barbarism or barbarity shall continue apace, paced by the barbers. Yes. The ruling class barbers opt for barbarism as the only safeguard against those twain historic booger bears of the ruler barbers, socialism and savagery. Or, paraphrasing George Will, There is no way the ruling class should provide a welfare state for a bunch of ignorant savages.

Where’s Samson when we really need him?

Finally, consider the tiny globe that some call, Earth. The rulers shall decide that we need to use up even more fossil fuel faster than ever before. But we also need to use some energy that we can’t use up. Like sunshine, for example, is generally considered impossible to use up. So in those rare instances where the use of sunshine for energy does not hurt the economy, we can use the sunshine. That’s what the rulers shall decide after they give everybody a haircut.

Shall Crumby Survive to Winter Solstice, Maybe , Alas

OK. As everyone knows, the Vitamin D shortage in these parts may be acute or even obtuse. What if the shortage is obtuse? What then?

Mercy! Afflicted with an obtuse Vitamin D shortage, Crumby’s spirit dims. Though possibly, the brief stint of sunshine yesterday shall keep Crumby going until Winter Solstice maybe. Yes Ogma shone feebly yesterday providing Crumby with a desperately needed dose of the D. Then, temporarily replete with vitamins, Crumby’s brain began to function, sluggishly.

I know, Crumby figured, I can get even more Vitamin D tonight. Yes. I shall do some nude star bathing. Nude star bathing is just the ticket for an additional Vitamin D boost.

Alas, Crumby figured wrong. As the stygian darkness enveloped these parts, the cruel clouds imposed between naked Crumby and the Vitamin D laced starlight. Mercy!

Nevertheless, the feeble sunshine yesterday got Crumby’s V D level up a little. So Crumby was barely able to do a little work on his Hymenoptera project. The work, for which the meager V D dose scarcely sufficed, involved finding a photograph of a probable potter wasp pot. Note that this pot is constructed upon the leaf of a thistle about two feet off the ground. How about that!

Sadly, Crumby knows nothing regarding the actual potter because when Crumby took the picture, he was not aware of potter wasps. So Crumby never looked around for the potter. Subsequently, Crumby has learned that members of the genus Eumenes construct similar pots. Three species of Eumenes occur at the CB. So this pot may belong to one of those species. However, some of the other Eumeninae that construct aerial mud pots and also are documented to occur at the CB may be implicated. Who knows?

Taxidermy the US Senate

Crumby realizes that taxidermy may not be a verb. Nevertheless, when it comes to that club of old millionaire scum suckers, what else but taxidermy comes to mind? Yes. Simply put, since the Senate is totally finished when it comes to innovation, let’s quit the election tomfoolery and taxidermy the current bunch. That’s right. The current bunch needs to be kept on forever. Correct. As each one among the current bunch pegs out, taxidermy that sucker, put him or her on wheels, stick a mini-cassette player in its mouth so it can talk, and there you shall have the senator from Kentucky, for example, for eternity.

Talk about out of ideas. The US Senate is out of ideas forever and a day. No since swapping them out via election either. Any newly elected senator shall also, ipso facto, be out of ideas forever and a day too. Because, that’s the way it is. The Americano ruling class is out of ideas. So naturally, the senators, considered as a miserable subset of the ruling class as a whole, are also out of ideas. Tough titties for Americano Land.

Yes. Stop these fraudulent elections. Instead, spare the US any more bullshit elections. Rather than go through with more useless elections, stuff the incumbents. Course, the incumbents may be stuffed or taxidermy-ed as soon as they are dead or anytime after they appear to be dead, whichever. Or maybe the taxpayers could get a group rate if all hundred of them could be done as a lot.

There those senators would be, taxidermed or stuffed. Their congressional aides could move them around from spot to spot, office to senate chamber. Like they could be taxidermed upright, or maybe in sitting or in semi-reclining positions. Or maybe they could be taxidermed with a view to seating the taxidermed specimen in a wheel barrow. Yes. Wheelbarrows might prove better for everyone. The aides could easily move the taxidermed senators from spot to spot in wheelbarrows. Also , if the senators had wheelbarrows, the senate furniture could be auctioned off.

A Green Leaf Flutters

A Green Leaf Flutters

A green leaf flutters in the gentle, warm breeze.
Then comes a blue norther.
The green leaf freezes.
Nay though.
The formerly nice green leaf refuses to turn loose from the stem.
There that leaf is, black, it’s flesh rotting, still hanging on.
Yet still it hangs there, black, rotting. Mercy!

The beautiful yet sentimental poem, A Green Leaf Flutters, fairly describes the herbage at the CB on this Sunday morning. Until yesterday, many of the leaves were doing OK. They were like enjoying their role in life which is photosynthesis. Yes. Finally, after the nearly interminable dearth of meteoric water there came about a plentitude of moisture for those leaves to enjoy. At last, those leaves could easily photosynthesize to their heart’s content. Then what happened? They all froze to death. Now they are all rotting. But not in Hell. No. They are hanging out in full view of the Goddess and everybody, rotting. Ugh. A festive time for the molds and mildews.

Frostweed is Such a Great Floral Element or Plant

Everybody needs a little frostweed (Verbesina virginica), verb virgin for short. Not only is verb virgin one of the very best plants for attracting interesting bugs to your parts, it extrudes this ice, from which behavior it deservedly gets its common name or two, frostweed or freezeweed.

What a great plant! If everybody had frostweed, the world would be a better place. Oh yes the world, would be a better place for you and me, and frostweed, and bugs, whoopee. Tra-la!

Crumby is so happy that the CB has plenty of frostweed, established from handy seed. What would Crumby do without frostweed? Easy that. Crumby would live on. But then, many years later, dying in his bed from boredom, Crumby might exclaim, I would have been lots happier and less bored if only I had some frostweed to keep me entertained.

Mainline the Vitamin D , Comrades

Holy Goddess! Ogma Sunface has revealed himself, while at the same instant, the snow briefly flurried. Like weather persons everywhere, the ones in these parts suck. They are only any account for obvious ovation or prognoses, huh-huh, prognoses. For the rest, the unusual, for example rain, when the rain falleth not, they can’t do it. No.

What the heck are you ovating about Crumby? Easy that, there was like a 70% chance of snow yesterday, for today, and a 60% chance today, and it did snow, minutely, but only after Ogma came out, putting the lie almost totally to the forecast.

How does Crumby know all this? Because, Crumby set forth into the wilderness with only his faithful dog for company. Off the twain of them went, on a walkie. While on the walkie, Crumby noted Ogma plus snow. Fancy that! Simultaneous snowflakes and sunshine.

Snowflakes and sunshine make my weenie hard.
Yes, but the cold wind makes it soft again.
Then when Crumby don’t get any Vitamin D,
All the winter long he could go crazy! Mercy!

Huh-huh.

All righty then. Huh-huh. White people and even people that are only mostly or maybe slightly white can go crazy during the winters at this latitude. Yes. Many people, mostly white people shall go crazy this winter, probably. What shall they do once gone crazy? Mercy! Many shall eat their babies or other people’s babies. Goodness! It is always the babies, the most innocent among everyone, that could easily suffer the worst fate of all, the brunt of cannibalism during these long winter months when Vitamin D is scarcely available. Boo hoo. The worst part is those babies don’t even contain much Vitamin D. What a waste!

You know, seriously, of the major religions, White Goddess Worshiping Druids of the Old School are the most likely to make sport of Ogma Sunface. Yet, when push comes to shove, we Druids are just as dependent on Vitamin D as the average lazy white dumbass Republican secesh pseudo-Christian moron inhabiting this latitude, especially Tejas. So right now, before Winter Solstice, before Ogma wanes to insignificance, I, Crumby Ovate, would like to apologize to Ogma for all the bad juju bullshit I have spelled over him. Mercy! Not only that, I would like to extend my hand, a hand of friendship to that often maligned provider of sunshine, plus Vitamin D, Ogma Sunface, the best friend or source of Vitamin D any may have.

Besides Ogma, animal fur is a good penultimate source of Vitamin D. Like maybe, ladies, your husband or fornicating boyfriend is hairy as a coon or possum. OK ladies, all you got to do in the winter to get your Vitamin D is lick the fur of that husband or your prime boyfriend fornicator. That fur is oily and in that oily fur is plenty of Vitamin D; all the Vitamin D required to survive the winter, and to keep you ladies from eating your babies. Even if you don’t have babies, that oily fur can help you survive. Yes. Your spirits shall remain high all winter, but only if you lick plenty of oily male fur. Lick that fur and you shall not be Vitamin D deprived. Instead, you shall be invigorated, full of pep, like wishing to take dancing lessons. Plus you shall have so much going for you this winter, you can make your oily male counterpart take you to dancing lessons and even dance, himself. Mercy!

Course you have to watch out and not choke on the oily fur. That’s what happened to Karl the Tracker Druid’s second wife, Berenice. She forgot that Karl sheds periodically. All Karls' fur came off in Berenice's mouth.

OK. That takes care of the Vitamin D requirements of the fair sex during winter. But what about all you he men. Could be that your lady or lady fares or fairs, which is which, or what if you happen to be a Mormon, Arab, or unabashed fornicator or adulterer....... What if? Hold it! Stop all this foolishness!

The lady or ladies you he men associate with may lack the integumentary follicles or oil glands necessary to assure your survival. Well, there is no shame there. No shame! So temporarily, and just for the sake of survival and to avoid baby cannibalism, you dudes could like lick the fur of one another, ugh, man. You know. It’s like a temporary seasonal solution implying no long term commitments.

Barbarism is Inevitable

Is barbarism a good thing or a bad thing? Whoa! It’s the same difference as asking, Crumby, are haircuts good or bad? Yes. And who are responsible for many haircuts? Easy that, barbers.

Those dang barbers are a hangover from the days when the barbarians first action after they took over the town or hamlet was to shave everyone’s head. Hmm. Well, maybe the barbarians looted the town first, raped all the inhabitants second, then barbered everyone’s heads. That’s right. That’s the correct sequence of historical events. Actually, barbering was third on the barbarian agenda. But even though barbering was third, it was super important. After all the people in the hamlet got their hair cut off, the barbarians and barbers could easily espy who was who. That’s because only the barbarians and barbers had hair. So afterward it was much easier to espy potential rape victims and persons who needed to be looted again. They were the unlucky bastards with no hair.

All this sad bullshit is precisely why Crumby always gives himself private haircuts approximately per annum whether he needs one or not. Yes. Crumby knows, you can never trust a barber, ever. Like you could easily go into a barber shop, then, come out bald. Next, you get yourself gang raped and looted on the way home because everyone knows the bald are obvious potential victims. Mercy!

Yes. Baldies are weak sisters, even symbolically. That’s why, soon as you get in the army, they shave your noggin. Once your noggin is shaved, it’s like a neon sign, omen, or ovation, that spells out, Hey everybody, come on, fuck me up the ass. Loot my shit.

Barbarism, that some refer to also as barbarity, is closely related to predation. Like for example, the strong loot and rape the weak. The strong prey on the weak. Predators! Mercy!

These days, Crumby is old and frail despite having plenty of hair. So these days, Crumby has to watch out for barbarian predators that could easily sneak up on Crumby, then loot and rape him. However, Crumby’s hair is his first line of defense against the barbarians. Hopefully, Crumby figures, the barbarians shall espy all that hair and pass on Crumby in favor of a nice, fat baldy. It’s like the miserable old joke, I don’t have to outrun the bear, I just have to outrun the baldy.


Up ‘til now, Crumby has refrained from discussing or commenting on the most hideous outrage of the barbarians and their barber buddies, take a deep breath, cannibalism. Correct. Eventually those barbarians shall weary of their victims. Yes. They shall have taken all the loot. They shall tire of the incessant rape. Then, oh mercy, they shall eat you up. Oh my Goddess. Horrible, horrible, horrible!!!!

What happens to the soul of a person that has been devoured by vicious barbarian cannibals? One might logically assume that such an unfortunate soul might eventually be expelled as a gas or maybe a semi-gas. But hardly anyone knows for sure.

Friedrich Engels was fairly wise to re-emphasize the Druid dichotomy, socialism versus barbarism. Yes. Many require socialism. But only the strong, the predaceous, require barbarism.

Regular Rain

Lo and behold the rain has fallen abundantly lately, like for the last 60 or so days. The rain promoted an untimely growing season at the CB. Yes. The growing season for DY3 pretty much consisted of six weeks in the spring and 8-9 weeks in late summer and fall. Course the CB has already had four frosts so lots of plants, like for example the miserable Acalypha ostryifolia, got nipped. Why has Acalypha ostryifolia become a conspicuous plant at the CB? Nobody knows.


What’s it good for? Nobody knows. In any event, it got nipped.

But the winter weeds are going nuts. Suddenly, Sonchus asper is apparently fixing to take over. Ray and Crumby are having to take a hoe to that dern Sonchus. Also, Galium aparine is making a huge comeback. Once it gets bigger, Ray or Crumby shall need to take a rake to it. That’s right. The easiest way to get shut of bedstraw is, let it get big, then take a rake to it.

For Goddess Sakes, the little Veronicas are blooming. Here ‘tis not even Winter Solstice and the Veronicas are blooming. Mercy! Lupinus texensis is fixing to bloom too, just in time for a hard freeze.

What is Crumby alluding to? This is what. Nature is out of whack. All the herbs, green for the first nonce since the spring, are fixing to get frozen. Crazy! Crazy, I tell you.

Well. At least the imperialist occupations of Iraq and Afghanistan are winding down. Huh-huh. Well. Maybe not. No. Alas. The Democratic Party is also an imperialistic party. Matter of fact, when it comes to imperialism, the Democrats take a back seat to no one.

Huh-huh. These days, there is less pretense than before, maybe. Everyone knows Americano Land can’t afford these extended camp outs for the troops. But because nobody knows what to do with the troops besides camp outs, off they go.

So. If the All Mighty Republican Party had its way, you know the small government party, we would privatize the military. That’s correct. The military would all be contractors paid for with taxes instead of the socialist military we have now which is also paid for with taxes. Well. Not exactly. Less pretense means we actually don’t even pretend that taxes can ever totally pay for the socialistic military camp outs.

But, if the whole shebang was like privatized, which capitalists would stand to make big profits in Afghanistan. Like what resource could be best exploited by a private capitalist with an army in Afghanistan? Huh-huh.

Then once a capitalist with an army had total control of that resource, that capitalist would no longer need taxes. No. That capitalist could then operate as a free market enterpriser, totally independent of my taxes. But would he? Would that capitalist voluntarily give up on socialism just because he could afford to?

Course not. That would be too dumb. No capitalist would be that dumb. No. He would take the tax money in addition to the dope money. Course he would.

Barbarism is inevitable.