I was going to…

post the P!nk piece in “Commentary and Outrages” blog but my left little finger got the better of me. Again.  Endlessly.  But that’s not what this is about. It’s an early notice that I am gone…what? We all knew that from before!  No. Gone. As in closing shop and taking the travel-circus back up The Hill to visit my okra plants and pop a few raw right in the midst, mindlessly munching before brethren and sisthren (dang! anyone know how to unacceptably spell the plural (old fashionedly to be maniacally precise) of sister?  I’d hate to get The Okra Police in a lather over failure to genderfy the offended unmunched raw okra.

But even less to the point, chores have past challenge stage.  I may even have mail I’d like to see.  What? In the midst of preseason politics known colloquially as Primaries…if these be primary, does that make November secondary? And more such questions.

But I digress. Oh…something un-new. He digresses! At least he quit indressing to go fetch a left book just before the rain.  Actually, it’s a digress, but I though I’d thrown in some words to keep the ping squiggly lines showering over my parades. There are at least a dozen more pages of five-seven-five and 5-7-5 7-7s left to transcribe and that counts not the unnaturals and past-naturals and even the prose-ish pieces of leftover pi and pieces of yester-buttered popcorn as I await my football fix…I may even faux my fix with some extramural preseason National Laughting Stock League…but only by radio.  I have papally dispensed myself to listen to Not-For-Long but eschew the watch-part.  Lessee, how many more days before Bull Gators Lament? Will Willie Lead an Appaloosa out of obscurity?  And, why is a Pacific Northwest horse held in such high esteem in swampy Florida?  Will FTU ever find hapiness in its drag dements of an AA littler league?   Did I overstep my authority when I cited to Storm That Miami may make ‘U’s and chains The Thing that keeps Florida gnashing?  What a SoapDish Opera coming.  Methinks I might make that radio-only so I can have some quiet multitasktime.  Got plenty of bleu cheese and celery.  And soonerishly maybe the hot peppers will come roaring back to play ungentle foil.

Y’all be fine, heah?

“Happy? Purple Heart Day!”

(August 7, 2018)

It’s #PurpleHeartDay!

And I near-missed it. Again!

I’m sealed ‘gainst that day!


  • (Except for a post by one Donald John Trump never would I have learned that August Seventh is another in the parade of federal holidays orbiting the military condition of some few Americans.  The best thing about knowing the day this first was writ was that so few of us have those little strips of George Washington first-awarded purple ribbons (for military merit) on the obverse side of mine which still so says, though actually it is for mistaking the yelled warning “Duck” with a less-appropriate but more-welcome word of similar structure.  Wow. Never knew I go a ‘nother spare day.  Oh, what to do? How to sell O brate?  Lessee: Memorial Day, July The Four, Purple Heart Day, Veterans Day…all we need now is a day truly I could celebrate…the day we turn all our weaponry toward the edge of This Here Solar System as if to say “what is out there may or may not be friendly, may or may not cause harm, but we here humans (and earth and maybe Titan-worms) would rather knock out impending doom before it pokes its ugly head out of this Oort Cloud before us, say at Saturn’s short border, than keep pointing our sticky and shooty thingees at each other instead. ‘Til that Day: Happy Purple, pals!)