Black Helicopters and Dinner Rolls

It’s March. When the heck did that happen?? Where did February go? Time flies! I am the very first person to ever write that. Oh, sorry. Are we now in post-post whatever goes era yet? Are we all back to expecting some truth and some reality into our national discourse?? International discourse now! We’re back on the world stage as a team player, yes? My head spins at the spin so I’m not sure what the spin is right now. See what I did there? Can you explain it to me so I know that I know I didn’t fall for the spin that was spun? Thanks!

Just a week or so ago, we had WILD WINTER WEATHER. Snow. More snow. Some more snow. Bracketed by very warm weather. Spring weather. SNOW AND WHAT IS HAPPENING, WHY IS WINTER HERE ALL OF A SUDDEN. Spring weather. The unsettled border areas between the last of winter and the start of the growing season are upon us.

Joe Biden is still president, by the way. In case some of you were wondering. I am not, cannot, go into the QAnon conspiracy badger sett right now. It’s like cutting off my fingers to spite someone’s golf game that they haven’t played yet. Jewish space lasers. I, um? I think people just got tired of waiting for Obama to take their guns so they invented the New Jersey pizza parlor cannibals eating children for their hormones to worship Satan, led by Hillary Clinton, the Hollywood ‘elites’, etc, with Geoge Soros funding all this because…Jewish. March 4th was supposed to be the day pumpkincunt took the White House back and that DID NOT HAPPEN. Take it from me in Eastern Oregon, in literal nowhere at all, that did not happen.

Now, you can stroll over to Parler and Gab, whatever else, to read all this. That is if you want to submit your data and set up an account. For sites that have been repeatedly data breached. I’m bad with computers and barely understand how to turn one on and off but even I know repeated data breaches are bad, m’kay. But hey, if you want to read how Biden is dead, being played by a crisis actor or that FEMA camps are being set up right now to ‘re-educate’ patriots or that masks are a sign of the Beast and the New World Order, that the COVID vaccine is Bill Gates’s master plan to erase the earth’s population…well, you can peruse your Aunt Martha’s Facebook page. Or that guy you went to high school with, who morphed into a 2A rabid weasel who types in all caps about state’s rights, small government and why liberal women are all whores who kill then eat their own babies.

I could go on and on about the nuttiness that is American politics right now. And on and on!

So to end this brief scattershot for the start of March, I made dinner rolls yesterday. From scratch. I let them rise three times. I had a small roast in the crock pot, I let the dough simmer near that heat. Light, fluffy, airy dough, kiss noises! I baked them to perfection. Paul Hollywood would have at least given me a slight nod. I think it’s important when the globalists cut the power and start stuffing us all in camps that I have the skill set to make my own bread. I’d laugh but irony and sarcasm are dead in America, so I’m just sobbing into a pint of ice cream while waiting for the black helicopters to wing past on their way to carry out orders from the Clinton mafia.

Hello, spring. Hello!

January Notes

Oh golly, such a slow month! That was sarcasm. America, for those not having to endure it themselves, is batshit insane looney tunes over the moon cray cray right now. We had an actual attempt at a coup just last week and now the outgoing prezzie has TWO impeachments to his credit. That’s…ah. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry so you do both, with the snot running and the entire body shaking. You make sounds not heard outside a slaughter house full of helium-infested pigs. A kind of squeal-scream-shout-laugh-gasp, and now even the local coyotes line up to see if you’re okay.

I’m not okay.

I won’t be okay for a long time, because what’s been going on in America is trauma. It’s just straight up war zone-esque trauma. That’s what it FEELS like. I have no idea, of course, about a war zone; never had to survive in an actual war zone. I’m just calling up all the usual stereotypical whatevers for trying to…explain what the past four years have been like. Hell, what the past week has been like. The constant tension of ‘what’s he gonna do next??!!’ followed by ‘did he really fucking just say/do that?’ followed by ‘there is not enough cheese in this house’ followed by ‘I think my blood pressure is around 400 or something right now, is that normal?’.

I won’t attempt to break down the nuttiness of Jan. 6th. It’s available, it’s out there, you can look up just who got arrested lately for smearing their own shit on the walls of the capitol building, and yes, that the QAnon half-naked cosplaying Viking wannabe with the white supremacist tats was arrested. That he lives with his mom and eats only special food and…okay.

I mean to write some long political scream about all this but…I think my gaskets would blow and they’d have to haul me off to the mechanic. That people are yet defending all this is so very American. If you don’t live here, it might be mystifying and horrifying. But. Fox News says it was patriots who were all peaceful and Antifa rogue agents who blah de blah. I…mm. There is not enough cheese in this house.

I started a new novel! Yah! It’s called Vampire Bride. I wrote a short story of the same name and thought, hey, there might be a longer story here. As you sometimes do. So. Am just writing, with no plan or outline, just seeing where it goes. Cause unfettered free writing is the new patriotic blood of the land! Cheese? Here, cheese!

So! Here’s the link to my publisher’s page. Check it out!! Not only me, but other writers you might find worthy of your time and interest. You never know when you might find your OH MY GAWD I LOVE THIS writer/artist/person. You never know.

HOME | Poeboypublishing (wixsite.com)

Snow Expected

The sky this morn

There’s snow forecast for my tiny neck of the woods. The sky appears appropriately cloudy. I hope it does snow. We need the moisture here. The local mountains have been hit pretty hard with the white slippery pretty stuff but nothing, so far, where I am. Boise got snow! Damn it!

Well, the celebratory mood, gone. Fizzled. God damn fucking orange coddled fuckwaffle. If this were any other person who’d just lost a major election, then refused to vacate…none of what’s being tolerated and shrugged off now would be tolerated or shrugged off.

If Obama had pulled this crap, Fox News and the GOP would have lined up to take turns hanging him from whatever tree they could find. If Hillary had dug in her lady  heels and gotten all hysterically I won I won gimme gimme…oh boy. Oh boy, would that have been something to behold in America.

Now, Biden won. He won. He and Harris will take over no matter what’s thrown at them…unless there’s an actual damn coup by Barr, orange fuckstick, McConnell and the rest of the toady GOPers. That’s being tried now. The voter fraud conspiracy!

I must focus on, oh, writing.

Oh that.

This all, too, shall pass, this current rotted pumpkin madness.

I am reworking the ending of my Odin and Jesus novel. To give it more of a punch, a kick, a boom. I want to write and work on this! WHAT THE HELL? I seem to be shaking off, a bit, of this strange not wanna write nothing spell some malignant demon flung at me on its way to whisper conspiracy hints in some broken-brained QAnon’s decaying skull organ.

I but jest. Sort of.

If you don’t know what QAnon is, please. Go and look it up. It’s a cult that’s growing, born from a hoax. No, the person behind all this admitted it was a hoax. And yet…here we are.

Writing! I’m supposed to be shilling my writing to those who might be interested and even those who slow down to gander at this train wreck of a blog.

So yes, reworking the ending. I think I will just pick a spot, start a new doc, see what happens. I have the ending, the last bit I am keeping for suresies. I think. Oh dear. Or am I ruining my tight little novel with…oh dear!

Yes, I would like to see how medieval cheese was made, Youtube. Yes, I would!

I found this channel on historical cooking and I LOVE IT SO MUCH. You get history and recipes! Score score!

Yes, I’m fine, I’m okay.

Waiting for the snow. Writing a bit and holding my breath as my country TREMBLES on some precipice akin to the Civil War or…something equally savaging. I do think…I don’t know, actually. I am just as lost as anyone else here, even those throwing out pat predictions this will all be fine or it will all be a clustermess of the highest order, grab your minivan and head for Canada.

I really like moose. I can learn to like hockey more than I do. I’d like to live on Prince Edward Island. Eh!

Weed and Schitt’s Creek and Tequila and Elections and the Great Pumpkin and

The cast of Schitt’s Creek

Anyone else planning to spend Voting Hell Day in ‘murica with a bag of weed, a bottle of rot gut tequila, junk food galore as you marathon Schitt’s Creek? Anyone? Buehler?

I hate Ferris Buehler’s Day Off with a passion, by the way. Hated it when it first hit, hate it now. I just. Yuck. I have never been charmed by that slick mud puddle of a movie. Sorry if I crapped on your dreams or best movie or life, whatever.

I voted already. We can do that here in Oregon. We have mail-in voting since…ever. I don’t remember a time when you couldn’t just chuck your ballot back in the mail box. Well, until this year. I took my ballot to the drop box at the county courthouse. There was a car sitting there, idling. Paranoia hit me. WTF is that car doing there? WTF? Drive off, fuckweeds. Drive away! But I voted. Straight Dem, full total disclosure.

Just one more day…Not actually, as ballots come in from absentee and such will still need to be counted. If they are allowed to be counted, that is. My country seems caught on the idea that democracy is too hard, so let’s try fascism which is super-easy! Voter suppression galore! Woot?  

Hey, Kangaroo Court, er, Supreme Cunts, can ya fix the election already for Drippy Clownfuck McTraitorface? Oh you plan that if given even a sliver of a chance?? Wheeee!

Me and tequila have a complicated relationship at best. Any time I go near it, yeah, things get complicated. I end up pawing at people or under a table sobbing for a razor blade. There’s no in-between option. Vodka doesn’t do this to me or rum or whiskey. Tequila fucks my shit up, as the wise children opine. So prolly not gonna get some of that devil juice.

Weed is legal here. I am surrounded by dispensaries, not to mention, hey, my aunt grows the stuff, as do several cousins. I actually like it. It calms me. I just float. It’s kinda nice.

Election. Huh, so ABC is broadcasting a chump rally in entirety. Fucking hell on burned bran muffins, be they super-stupid?

Obviously I have nothing elegant or new to say on the day before the Day. I am hopeful yet OH MY FUCKING GOD WTF kinda something. Record number of voters showing up. Record number of voter suppression tactics in play. Rallies and lies and alibis, oh my!

Also saw where Trumpanzees are showing up to block roads, run buses off those roads, block voting sites. FBI investigating some of that.

Have not been able to concentrate for ages. Waiting for Civil War II to drop is kinda all-consuming at the present.

Schitt’s Creek is truly delightful. I didn’t have much hope at how it started—very broad stereotypes of both the rich and the not so rich, and small town everything, how funny, ha ha. But then. But then!

Depths and shades and nuances started to appear. David and Alexis, wow. Mr. Rose emerging as the most empathetic of the family and an actual pretty okay day. Moira…has her moments of utter loveliness. I was won over to Schitt’s Creek when Alexis asked her brother for a hug. He hemmed and hawed, as he does, then he just gave in and gave his sister the comfort she and he needed. That was in season two, or so. Maybe?

I am not charmed by Chris Elliot. I’ve seen him do this type of character too many times. I love his wife, whoever that actress is. Oh I know that too-nice, gotta help everyone but herself character. It’s my mom!

Possibly a much deeper dive into this series when I reach the end. I’m in season four or five, somewhere in there. Right after Patrick’s housewarming party where Ted kisses David. And I must say, I do really like Alexis and Ted together. I just do.

SPOILERS IF YOU’VE NOT SEEN THIS YET. SORRY NOT SORRY FUCK OFF ALREADY YOU SNIVELING SNOTMONSTERS

Oh. I seem a bit hostile. Ouchie.

Please please don’t let Stevie dangle in the wind as this series seems to do endlessly. Thanks in advance?? Eh…?

So yeah. Weed, booze, snacks, a funny show I can watch all day. While I try to wait for the final results without LOSING MY GODDAMN MARBLES.

I predict a Biden win but chump and lawyers and such will challenge it. Chump has stated this already, several times. At rallies. And so this nightmare doesn’t end, we all keep falling toward the rocks…splat.

Splat.

Splitter-splat.

How could they remove the Peanut’s Halloween Special off network TV?? THIS FUCKING YEAR SUCKS MOLDY MOTHERFUCKING BALLS.

It’s the Great Pum…NO IT’S NOT CAUSE YOU CAN ONLY WATCH IT ON APPLE FUCKING FUCKING WHATEVER FUCK FUCK FUCK

Yeah, I’m fine.

I’m okay.

Uh huh.

July Hash Post

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Storm about to hit plus the old locust tree. June 2020 pic. That’s a corn field behind it. 

The fireworks and dog and pony show are now over until next year. That’s Fourth of July to those not in ‘murica. I did not attend my family’s gathering. I have actually been trying to follow guidelines about public safety and not helping spread this pandemic about as hard and fast as possible. I guess I hate ‘freedumb’. I guess I hates it really damn hard or sumpin. Wear a mask, love the devil! That’s America right now!

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A Jimmy Johns employee makes a noose out of dough cause…BLM is the real problem here, obviously. Just head-exploding…yeah. 

Okay. Before I just start typing every cuss word every invented and calling upon Satan to curse my own with pus-filled painful boils for their MAGA-filled bullshit cunty cunt…Okay. Okay. See what I mean? Just a screaming unintelligible stream of consciousness filthy river that I hope will drown the world in a river of actual liquid feces infected with exploding small pox so we can be done with all this. Amen.

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is there an American equivalent of Ms. Salt? 

Ahem.

My mood has traveled to a low point in the life highway. Eh. What’s new. Except the sheer awfulness that is America right now seems to be a permanent stain on whatever composition is actually me. It’s tiring and stultifying.

The hits never stop; they pound relentlessly against the already torn fabric of this country and the world itself. Fraud. Lies. Greed. More lies. More damned lies. Mountains of lies. Victim playing while causing even more damage. Temper tantrums because the likes aren’t high enough from the press. Ratings are bad, temper tantrums, we all get punished.

Daddy isn’t happy! You earned that broken bone, America! Why do you make Orange Daddy hit you??? That black eye is YOUR FAULT FOR MAKING DADDY MAD AT YOU

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Oh. Here we go. Bear with me a bit. I apologize if I mangle this.

I’d go into the J.K. Rowling brohouha but others have done it so much better, so much more elegantly, with far more understanding that I do of this terf issue. I had no idea what a terf was until lately. TERF– trans-exclusionary radical feminist.

That’s a head scratcher. Why would you exclude entire groups from feminism? What would be the point and…? Oh, prejudice and ignorance and a host of some other stuff and things, got it. 

I will also state that trans people are people, the end.

Someone identifying as another gender or being gender-fluid or anything in between that—please understand I am not an expert in this and sorry if I state things wrong or badly—has no effect on me, my life or anything to do with me. It doesn’t detract from me or subtract from me that someone else is not like me or doesn’t identify in a way that I understand right off the bat. It might take me a moment to wrangle out details, word meanings, words used, terminology, etc. But I will try and understand, read up, listen up, catch up. It’s not my struggle, but it doesn’t mean it’s not real for others going through all this in some way or another.

Sometimes I don’t instantly receive all the changed anything to do with this issue of transgenderism and gender in general…I have to catch up, read up, watch something. I try to listen, instead of offering opinions and getting testy and defensive. I also, frankly, become afraid of SAYING OR WRITING THE WRONG THING about trans people or marginalized folks.

Because I know I have misconceptions, prejudices, wrong takes, hasty assumptions all just waitin’ to brand me a big ole idiot with poo for brains. I, like others, have no real need to be embarrassed or shamed, like, ever.

But.

How can you learn anything if you don’t venture into the unknown field of New Ideas and New Notions and Brand New Stuff That’s Scary At First To Explore. You might even get bogged down in It’s Always Been This Way Swamp. Ugh, amirite?

There is more than one way to be a woman, far more than Rowling and others in her camp cling to. You can only be a woman if you menstruate…? Um, no. Geez. That’s so obvious it shouldn’t even be offered forth as a reason to deny people basic rights and/or try to legislate them out of existence.

I understand Rowling’s essay, quotes from it, have been used as part of legislators trying to get laws passed against trans people. So, her views are actively and actually hurting people. I am not okay with that.

I am not okay with that!

Yes, read all the Harry Potter books. I did notice some troubling stuff. The 50’s perfect family conservative vibe, for one. The house elves…ick. The goblins…yikes, or was it just me who wondered why the goblins resembled the hoary stereotypes of Jews that people still vomit up to this day?

And Dumbledore being gay…after the last book was out and selling in the billions. It’s…yeah. Was it said in any of the books? No. Suddenly there’s a hot and heavy affair between Dumbledore and Grindelwald that wasn’t written about in any of the books? I…mm. Why not just be open from the start, write this side of Dumbledore into the story from the get-go? Why pretend it was there all along when it so clearly was not?

The females of this world get short thrift as well. They’re either stereotypical moms, like Mrs. Weasely or hard-nosed grim types, like McGonnagal, or shrill shrews, like most of the other female characters or love interests with no real layers to them, like Cho Chang or even Ginny Weasely. Hermione is the scolding, annoying rule keeper to the two boys being rule breaking adventurous risk-takers. Which is the backbone of Western literature, after all. Sigh.

I am all over the map here, with lots of profanity thrown in. Woot woot.

I am also not writing. I just. My brain seems very empty. Tumbleweeds don’t even bother blowing past the sad line of fences leaning here and there inside my skull. I should be almost done with the current rewrite of a film…This about the worst actual case of Don’t Wanna I’ve had. I just don’t see the point anymore in writing for love or money. Mostly love cause nobody gives a piece of toast about anything I string together; that might be the acute depression mumbling. Might be.

I seem to be waiting for the awful other shoe to drop here in my country. So I can adjust and get on with resisting in the correct way. As those that I’m protesting against have decreed are the correct ways to protest! So they don’t get upset or have to think or have to do anything at all, really but totally ignore my protesting. And then nothing changes and we all go on as before until another forty years has passed and there’s a need for protesting and…

Woot. However, things do change. They do. It just seems to take generations for actual change to register. Plant a tree today. Be buried a long time before that tree gets cut down to make way for more condos. It’s kinda like that.

Hopeful note!

I have a mini green pumpkin growin’ away. It’s so cute! I want to give it kisses and talk to it like I talk to puppies. Hey there, cutie pie! Oh you’re so cute! How are you so cute!? Baby pumpkin breath…No. No, that’s a garden too far.

Rocks, Dogs and B-Days

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June 18th, 2020. The Owyhees, Oregon side

It’s my birthday. I didn’t spend the day weeping. So it’s a good one. This is one of the good ones!

I made my own cake—chocolate raspberry with a raspberry syrup-vanilla frosting mix atop it. If it has raspberries in it, there are no calories. That’s, um, how that works.

Oh, I took the three dogs for a mini trip. I drove up the road toward the state park. I pulled over onto the little side roads, parked, let them run and shout as I collected rocks for my garden efforts. We all had a lovely morning. They flushed a rabbit. And possibly found a snake. I just heard the hissing. I did not see the snake. One of the dogs brushed against an electric fence and got a shock. Poor baby! Yes, it’s cattle country as well as state park area.

Just a low-key enjoyable day. I even rented myself Little Women for tonight. The new one. I discovered you can stream videos from a service…yeah, it’s a whole thing. Why didn’t nobody tell this near-Luddite??

Two good things this week. DACA is still a thing. LGTBQ people cannot be fired for being LGTBQ. There are actual meltdowns going on because…people retained or gained some rights. Grudgingly so. Some folks are losing their minds! Because other citizens of their same country have the same protections they do, sort of…

It’s…mm. STOP BEING HORRIBLE SHITS TO EACH OTHER. There. I said it. I even wrote it down.

The DACA decision hinged on some paperwork that didn’t get done right…so yeah, America, still gotta vote. Still gotta get Pumpkincunt out of office.

So, hey, June is flying by.

Oh. Union County, up the road from moi, is swimmin’ with COVID-19 cases. Traced to a Pentecostal church in Island City. Eastern Oregon, we’ve joined the pandemic team, so to speak.

Tomorrow is Juneteenth. June 19, 1865, when the slaves were freed. This is not a date I was ever taught in a school.

All righty, fellow babies, cuties and assorted stardust mamas, have a great month.

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Owhyees, Oregon side

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Jaws waking from a snooze

No Bleach

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Yesterday, it was theorized that people try ingesting cleaning products to cure the virus having its way with America. Not to mention the other parts of the planet…Okay!

DO. NOT. DRINK. BLEACH.

It’s poisonous. It will cure the virus because you will be dead. But that’s rather extreme, dontcha think?

And sunlight? It also won’t do much more than give you a sunburn. Sorry.

So I saw all that flurry yesterday caused by these batshitteries and…

This is where we are now as a country? Debunking loony pronouncements by the POTUS that will actually kill people if followed? Yes, indeedy. That’s where we are. Been there for a while.

At Thursday’s White House coronavirus taskforce briefing, the US president discussed new government research on how the virus reacts to different temperatures, climates and surfaces.
“And then I see the disinfectant where it knocks it out in a minute,” Trump said. “One minute! And is there a way we can do something, by an injection inside or almost a cleaning? Because you see it gets in the lungs and it does a tremendous number on the lungs, so it’d be interesting to check that. So, that you’re going to have to use medical doctors with, but it sounds interesting to me.”

 

I couldn’t even begin to write something approaching the levels of WTF here. Fiction has to slink off and lick its wounds after trying to compete with the actuality of hey, inject or drink bleach, whaddya got to lose?

Sipping coffee, considering where to plant the rosemary, rejoicing that my bachelor button’s are sprouting, happy I got some cheap manure and generally in a spring frame of mind. Instead of, oh, writing. I did get off three submissions yesterday. I plan to write today, even if it’s just a paragraph. Bad habits lately, not writing lately, wonder why that is…mmm.

No, I can’t blame the VIRUS for my utter disinterest in writing. I get into cycles where I write a lot, then just don’t, then write a lot, then eh…that’s all this is. I also need to dust off a project, give myself a deadline, then go from there. Oooh!

I have a stack of novels I need to work on, for instance. I need to rework short stories, spruce them up, trim, throw out and start over, etc! Poetry needs to be written!

Jaws the cat is doing splendidly. She is now twice as big as she was, with a gorgeous shiny coat overlain with ginger tones. A sort of tabby with auburn patches. I don’t know my cat coats. She’s sort of striped with orange patches here and there. Short-hair. The dogs are bored! The fields around the house use drip irrigation as well as being organic so dogs not welcome at all. Normally I would take them out in the afternoon, for a jaunt down the bank and into the fields so they can hunt rodents.

To sum up this hodgepodge—DO NOT DRINK OR INGEST OR SHOOT UP BLEACH INTO YOUR BODY. No!! Bad!! Sunshine is not a miracle cure, either. Sorry. I am not in a writerly frame of mind but will overcome that by opening files, staring at words, perhaps doing more than that. The cat is well, the dogs want to get out and run.

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I don’t know who came up with this but I laughed, then I burst into tears. 

 

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America seems to have lost what little mind she had. This is common rhetoric lately. The Red Scare, y’all. 

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This one won’t die. That the virus is bio-engineered. Ugh. 

Evil Bubbles

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So, perusing, from a safe distance, the American political brouhaha taking place. That a president can and should seek foreign ‘help’ in going after political rivals when seeking re-election. That is, I believe, the base of Cheetolini’s lawyer’s ‘arguments’. Or that it’s all to investigate Hunter Biden, son of presidential candidate hopeful Joe Biden…cause corruption rumble rumble grumble rumble.

Madeline Peltz–Alan Dershowitz has repeatedly cited Harvard professor Nikolas Bowie’s scholarship to support his argument that abuse of power is not a crime.

You are welcome to go argue that on various battlefields across social media. It’s nonsense, sure. A president isn’t a king…anyway.

I’ve started and abandoned many a post about American’s descent into actual WTFery. Many others far more urbane, sophisticated and wordsmith-ish than I have tackled the various HOLY SHIT WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING WHERE IS THE WHISKEY AND ICE CREAM moments that have overwhelmingly overlapped like evil bubbles.

Yeah, evil bubbles.

Cheetolini was impeached by the House. Now the Senate gets to decide what or if anything happens after that. He doesn’t stop being impeached if the Senate caves and tries to rush this through. Where senators snipe at each other for a couple days without any witnesses or evidence of any kind examined or so forth. Which is what McConnell wants instead of…oh, letting witnesses and evidence exonerate his orange baby.

It’s almost like Cheetolini is, um, guilty. That Cheetolini had admitted to strong-arming Ukraine and others for info on political rivals and made quid pro quo a public business dealing of his…yep. Yep.

My eyeballs and earballs must be, like, lyin’ to me.

And we have the major players arraigned like characters in a weird reality show.

Big Congress featuring Nasty Nancy, Adam Schitt and the Turtle Man!

See them argue over coffee and witnesses and what reality is, tra la!

Tune in for White Male Rage fits that would embarrass toddlers in the candy section of a grocery store.

Watch speechifying to end all speechifying!

Who will get voted off the island??

How hard will Nasty Nancy bitchslap the boys?

Follow us on social media! Hashtag impeachment gaslit catfishing shouty shouters who shout.

Brought to you by the Koch Brothers and Sinclair Media.

I have to turn to satire and feeble jabs. I also actually called my senators. Ron Wyden and Jeff Merkley. Twice now. To put in my four cents toward calling witnesses to testify. Namely John fucking Bolton. How can you have a trial without evidence, witnesses or…? Yeah, that’s not a trial, that’s an actual farce. 

I could snarl onward with real despair and eyes so wide they hurt for days on end but hey…considering doing chapter blog posts for my Jordan Valley novel. That way I’d finish it. I mapped out about ten or so chapters. I notice others do this with their novels or projects.

The kitten, to end this Evil Bubble blurb, is doing well. Healing up. It’s been raining constantly or I’d let her go outside. She really wants to go outside. Like. Totally. She is fixed now, with shots. Jaws, spring seems early so you could be outside chasing the local birds [oh dear!] real super soon.

All right, January. Let’s hope February leans toward less batshittery from the Senate and all that. I doubt it will. But hey, I can always start and then abandon political rants by the boatload. Yay!

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Jaws is judging you. Yes, she is.

 

The War on Thanksgiving!

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Do those feathers like, um…? And that poor turkey is wearing a wig! Who designed this shirt?? I suspect someone who actually wants a war on Thanksgiving. 

From the Cranberry Hollow, right off the Punkin Knob

We have seen some rough fighting this past few run of days. Stovetop stuffing versus homemade, it got uglier and uglier, the survivors dazed and in need of cheer. We spent the night concocting pumpkin pie bombs, laced with cream cheese and whipped cream. But our hopes all rest with the forty pound turkey brother dragged to our fortress of buttered crescent rolls. May it sustain us through these hard hard times. #WarOnThanksgiving

Just off the coast of Gravy Boat Bay—

it’s quiet tonight. Too quiet. We suspect they are sneaking up to offer us deviled eggs and black olives skewered with tooth picks. To refuse might mean we give away our positions, but to choke down those deviled eggs means a total betrayal of all we believe in and hold dear. The struggle is real. The struggle is real. Do we hold true to who we are? It all seems so much dark meat tonight. Footsteps. I hear the rustle of holiday clothes and the clink of holiday dishes. Send me strength to see this through. #WarOnThansgiving

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Yeah, this isn’t a parody. I repeat, this is not a parody or the Onion. This is America’s alleged leader…promising we’ll still have Thanksgiving. Not parody. This is not parody.

Somewhere near the Marshmallow Yam Dish battlefield—

We approached the mound cautiously. It quivered. No one would go near it. It looks like something is suspended in the cloudy green interior. The horror we felt did not dissipate for several days. Our commander told us to buck up, it was only a damn Jell-O mold but we noticed our commander did not go near it, nor slice into it. We left it alone. It might be the biggest mistake we’ve made yet, but no one wishes contact with that quivery green horror filled with bits and pieces of God knows what. Someone whispered it was banana and peaches chopped up but surely not. A sinister pall falls over all of us these days. #WarOnThanksgiving

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Interior of Turkey Bone Fortress, off Drumstick Circle—

Today we lifted forks. It happened. Small talk nonexistent as we dug in with serious will. Many fell to the wayside after, curiously immobile and moaning while rubbing at bellies. Too much, too much, seemed the weary battle cry this day. #WarOnThanksgiving

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from Focus NM.

Murder Mittens

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Murder mittens always an option. 

The kitten plays. She’s lively, endearing, clearly on stimulants such as crack or triple expressos. Her broken jaw has not held her up much. The stitches were removed, the vet declared Jaws doing well. It’s her nickname. Jaws. Probably, eventually, her name. She enjoys attacking the dog’s tails. We have three dogs, all with long wavy tempting tails. Jaws stalks each one, sneaks up on it, does the wrap all four paws around tail, kick with rhythmic precision until whatever dog has been enduring this decides enough is enough. Jaws like to hide beneath the loveseat, bat at the nearest dog waiting for food to fall into his or her mouth from the indulgent humans nearby.

The kitten also wakes up in the middle of the night. Wet cat nose. Murder mittens about my foot. Plaintive meows. Are you up yet, giant inept cat? I read where cats regard humans as other giant ‘very bad at being cats’ cat. It’s why they bring us gifts of dead mice or a dead bird, often not so dead. Our pet cats are trying to feed us.

So, the state of American politics at present. I feel like pouring a giant glass of whiskey, with some Coke thrown in it, and watching it all burn to the ground. Maybe that would finally satisfy everyone. We can all enjoy the flames, roast some marshmallows, blame it all on the DNC, Nancy Pelosi, millennials and those who lack civility.

People will vote straight R because the ‘other side’ uses curse words. Okay, sure.

I also notice that the Dems do not play offense. Ever. It’s always a bewildered ‘here are the facts, why don’t you get it?’ blinky sort of ingrained trained door mat niceness.

As the Republican PR propaganda machine churns out 24/7, every minute, whatever reality they wish pushed and believed.

Ukraine interfered in our elections in 2016! Investigate the Bidens! Hillary sold uranium! The polls are rising in favor of Trump!

And so many more, over and over and over, repeated, over and over and over, repeated, over and over and over. Relentless.

There does not seem to be a counter to that, other than a timid ‘that’s not true, here’s the truth, m’kay, you guys.’ Any actual fiery response or push back seemingly gets shot down. By the other Democrats.

Calm down. Calm down, be polite, don’t upset the apple cart, take the high road.

Until that one actually fighting back gets silenced or even shoved out. It doesn’t seem a coincidence that the fighters and loud mouths all seem absent, missing or gone altogether. Or those speaking out don’t get supported or defended that much as the right, with a gleeful savagery, goes after that person with lies, more lies and damn lies. Hello, AOC.

Adam Schiff practically has to be a robot, speaking without much passion or anger. Pelosi has to remain preternaturally calm in the face of rabid hyenas snapping their foamy jaws in her face.

Any show of anger or outrage from the left gets met with how nuts they are, how ANGRY all the time, how they hate America and Americans, how…oh sure. Until the Dems get so trained to be calm apologists you tend to…ignore whatever they might say. Which is the whole fucking point of training them so.

And I find myself wishing a Dem would snap, and just go to town on the R’s. That other Dems start repeating talking points in counter to the talking points we always hear–

That Dems are weak on family values. That Dems are into spending. That Dems are blah blah blah.

Boil down a few very simple talking points that counter the message that Dems are unAmerican fringe weirdos intent on turning everyone gay after handing out free abortions to middle schoolers.

Dems fix the economy after Republicans wreck it. Dems stand for human rights when Republicans don’t. Dems want immigration reformed, not some free for all whoever wants to enter can bullshit. That fucking wall needs to be shoved up the nearest MAGA asshole sans lubricant. Protect the environment. Wrecking the land, water and air will not make America great. It will just make America uninhabitable.

Just some thoughts.

The kitten has slipped off somewhere. She likes to look out the windows. I need to get her fixed before she can return outside a bit. I have made myself her caretaker and servant. I have no wish to lose her as she seeks out mates or take care of more cats as she churns out unwanted kittens.

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Brigit and the new fast-moving not-mouse having a bit of a snuggle.