And since you so insensitively closed comments on your March Reveille – sans Booby Woogy Bugle Boy Of Company C! – I must inform your magnificience that my both pithy and lengthy reply to your interrogative now languishes in never-not-even-ever land sitting just outside the realm’s first door: this I shall have to wing response as I so recall since I have not two monitors I may tune to the time and tide not to mention temperature. You, sir Modest Mouse, no longer am a 4312. Not even a number I can recall, but I will if you whelp and moan your lost sense of ‘longing be. You – and allthe rest of us ritters and even the ‘grapers now b elong to a category called something like Information warriers. Yup: we’s been coopted into the cyper amphibious liars all, No more am we correspondents, or even pubic affairances and I miss my combat appellation affixed afore that that corps-espondunces label. Something to do with the Mohrene Korps doing away with ALL THE NUMBERS…we’s now all on the same team. Do They think it will stop the pilferage?
But to semi-ansewer thy query: I has been a flu-feared and that is not the reason but the excuse. The neither category goes like this: I ripped of a great toe (why, great, and if so do the lesser toes resent the appendages’s prefix?) nail on the right footed underhand and at the same time severely hi9gh-sprained the ankle that lives above said toe. The walk down today more than tweaks said hinge. I have soaked two stores out of their magnesium sulfate (I shall force you to lookitup, either in the bathroom medicine closet or your handy undandy unexpurgated billion page Ralph’s Rotten Rx book for those who eschew high). But the good news is the resultant cooled down bucket of epsom’s pepper makes a great tonic for the trees, shrubs, veg and such, though since it is a crystal and hard-nosed not necessarily good for me worm plantations of which I am happy to report after a two-week haitus from wandering about the yard – couch-kitchen-effluency pretty much mapped my progress those mostly cussing first few weeks of convalescence – I essayed a trip downtown to visit my favorite one-eye with fake hammer-n-chisel to see what hath Bruce wrought.
Rots! Really like All That Rock’n Roll and thus shall post it to twitter and FB so as to alert the carrion birds wondering why no one has reported an offal smell from my usual haunts the past double-fortnight. And rhyme and and internal rhyme two – nay! three! – This’un’s a jealousy-maker. If ‘twer but a Jalousie I could use it to catch pattering pits as the hoped for – but still stingily appearing rains make music to my one listening ear – I gave The Hearing Ear the day off.