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As far as revival of the American draft is concerned, it stands to reason that few contemporary able-bodied takers would enlist. After all, soft little hands that are used to caressing tiny touch screens would have a struggle adapting to boot camp. With the exception of some adventurous youth who have become adept at sports, martial arts or both, the ‘Baby Bust’ years would surely have an impact on numbers; cannon fodder for future military conflicts would need to be forcibly culled, hence the need for a draft. And although ‘boots on the ground’ theaters of yesteryear may be passé,
America’s war machine will not rest until the entire globe is under the Corporatocracy’s jackboot. Hence, the Selective Service will prevail in one form or another into the foreseeable future.
Then some poetry appeared in an odd publication. The young poetess was a winner of slams and various awards. Feeling slightly besmirched, Davey H silently retorted:
It was not me, not I
who wielded the blunderbuss;
not me, not I who sodomized your culture. Though this color is what the perps wore,
no ties bind, damn the misery left behind;
it is them and theirs both you and I abhor.
Following her considerable powers of logic and reasoning, Mrs. T doused Davey’s lunch with all purpose seasoning. That was yesterday.
So today, economics professor Richard Wolff declared a glossed-over truth not reported elsewhere, especially in the lame-stream media. This economy is not superlative, the unprecedented, unrealistically stratospheric stock market is actually a dangerous place, and the day(s) of reckoning is(are) not too far off.
Yet few can contain their zeal.
Buy opputunities are everywhere, it seems, and those festering bogeymen known as ‘derivatives’ have not been trotted out as the ticking time bombs they truly are.
Meanwhile, creature comforts beckon the simple minded to not cower in the face of potential financial ruin. A bear, if able-bodied, will kick a bull’s ass.
Elsewhere in the views, archaeological finds, pork rinds, small investors lose their behinds. Around the world as hate unfurled, Adrien da man has a property plan: a mover and shaker, he wants many an acre;
around this his mind whirled!
On Saturday, Davey H schemes and plots
to look at reams of extant knots.
IOW, the tome entitled ‘Ashley’s Book of Knots’ went out of print and is available on Archive.org for digital download.
Spanning over 700 pages, it is a stunning resource of massive breadth and scope, containing not only intriguing narrative but copious illustrations. Who but the most ardent knot tying bloke or blokess would guess that over 4000 knots to date have been catalogued?
No matter; today was just like any other in which reading material of any sort was pushed aside to make room for multiple errands such as pumping coins in the parking meter. It was impossible to ignore the nearby disheveled pedestrian holding a “Homeless - anything helps” sign. Feeling compassionate, Davey H asked if they wanted some food.
“No thanks,” came the reply. “I just ate in there already.” Well, that was a first.
As if ‘twas rehearsed.
So would it be fate
to put food on their plate
or to stave off the hunger accursed?
Davey got the message; some of these homeless folks are substance-hooked, and the only ‘anything’ that ‘helps’ is MONEY. After all, addictive drugs are a BUSINESS that generates revenue for the greedy at the expense of the addicted.
So it’s not that Davey is a tightass; that’s true.
He just will NOT support drugs or booze.
And that’s news you can use.
Meanwhile, back at the humble homestead, XMAS cheer had faded
along with some but not all hopes,
and though Davey is jaded,
he almost never mopes.
So Sly & the Family stone crafted a song that urged us to ‘Dance To The Music’. So what? Well, Davey H, being of the procrastinating persuasion, could take the dancing to heart.
Hail to the Chump for those ethics he breached; now he’ll take a lump as his ass is impeached. Well, today (January 14th) was ‘end game’ for all you Windows® 7 users, though Davey H pays scant attention to news from Microsoft.
For he, like many others, sees the software giant as an international player, not one based solely in the “U”S. Furthermore, he likes thinking back to when he first gave Linux a crack.
But not a hack.
From out of the proverbial blue (but not a blue screen), a friendly geek set Davey H up with a laptop that had Ubuntu installed on it. It has worked ever since.
Anyway, he then thought it expedient to make work an ingredient. That way he would spend far less time engaged in fruitless screen staring. Remember all those blue light rants?
Yet another day on the slippery slope
where Davey would say “let’s not give up hope.” Without bribing and some fair unsubscribing,
he isn’t a misanthrope.
But he has detected while feeling dejected
a bottomed-out mid-winter burn;
and though he’d confide it,
for he cannot hide it
and still has a whole lot to learn.
But Davey takes his lumps
and won’t remain in the dumps
until such time as he’s merry;
and though he’ll scoff at the thought of time off, he takes heart as it’s mid-January.
So come on, thoughts – let’s go!
Please emit a bit of flow.
Meanwhile, from the radio,
many things we needn’t know.
The Twitterer-in-chief will seek relief,
well lawyer-ed and non committal;
send out many tweets as he bellows and bleats like Nero playing his fiddle.
This isn’t to say it could go either way
or that a conclusion is reached;
although in the end our dear Twittering ‘friend’ could posibly be impeached.
So take heart, oh, boomer – here is a rumor:
that you can receive without strain:
they have pills for your ills,
info-tainment for thrills,
as you bolster your fast-aging brain.
Face it: nobody is hawking supplements to the youth market
where chipper young males can effortlessly sustain fully serviceable hard-ons and functional female fertility is the norm.
Now temporary health bubbles from every pore.
Don’t shop Wal*Mart – find another store.
We’ll get a table if we’re able. . .
how tough is it on this here visit
to ask for something more?
We didn’t panic with a good mechanic.
On us the onus;
did he have wheels he could loan us?
Well, that didn’t happen and Davey’s not crappin’ and prices make him want to holler;
when work was done, a new clutch – not fun – and it cost him an almighty dollar!
Now here is what a day with Davey meant: another dwebe just pounding pavement.
The money spent, didn’t like it much,
but reticent with a brand new clutch.
Davey won’t hesitate to gore you with boring details should your ears be so inclined.
As to the show trial’s outcome, he simply doesn’t give a flip. Let the Twitterer-in-chief flip life the bird; with great relief, no more ‘hearings’ are heard.
So Davey gives not the measliest shit
regarding the exoneration of chief Twit;
no, he’s worried about INCOME.
As his asshole burns incessantly from all the hot pepper he’s consuming,
it makes sitting a little tougher, and thus he is fuming.
Spring would be just around the so-called corner, despite the fact that Nature rarely creates right angle junctures.
And if the purpose of life is to get through it, providing you chose not to reproduce,
then in your strife you’ll say “screw it!”
That much you can well deduce.
Your pens will run out of ink
and your joints will get rusty.
It won’t matter what you think,
though you’ll be pretty lusty.
Now Davey makes haste and knows how it feels to have such good tast in automobiles.
Davey’s automobiles often just go to waste
& he knows how rust feels: not a good taste!
And though he eschews the driving too fast
he’ll wryly enthuse as those others whiz past.
For full well he knows
that he’ll surely arrive;
angst quelled, unlike those
who are tense as they drive.
Thus with 4 wheels pointing north as he goes,
relief ushers forth; the trip winds to a close.
Punctual, yes, he would not be too late
by using, you see, the big vast Interstate.
Yes, folks, the view from northbound
I-(censored) was pretty cool this time of year.
For into folks’ backyards you can easily peer.
And surely as you can poorly guess,
those people can no longer hide all their mess.
And though this jaunt took over an hour,
he was ne’er for want and said
All in all, ‘twas a pretty nice drive,
and he’d tell y’all ‘twas like I-35.
Next, Davey somehow absent mindedly managed to whiz right past exit (censored) and could have wound up in, say, Akron, Topeka, or Branson, friggin’ Missouri for that matter. Luckily, on this arrow-straight
and barren stretch he didn’t need wait,
and much less kvetch.
Two miles ahead, he did surely enthuse
at the chance to tread on a U-turn cops use.
But a busy-ass driver has no time for sh**;
hey, look – the TPMS light is still lit!
Good. Let it be so.
Do you know what a ripoff that is to have fixed? New batteries on all four valve stems then computer programming, and voila! All told, the price could easily reach $500. Eff that. Keep it.
Davey H scoffed heartily at the mere thought of it. If that pesky blinking dash light could just be extinguished all would be well. Such tommyrot!
Could it be that we never knew we needed a particular technology until we HAD it?
Don’t fret if you don’t know what that means, but you can bet we’ll all be staring at screens.
If that’s the case, oh blue light face,
then every twenty minutes or so:
get up from that place
and outdoors you should go.
Although nobody needs to remind Davey H of that, he feels compelled to prod himself to get up, get out and MOVE, not get fat.
In fact, as Davey is fond of repeating, if a job doesn’t have movement in it. . .
he will get bored in a New York minute,
though he hasn’t been to New York in quite some time.
One more place to see before you get too old, it could be said; yes, crowded and noisy – all things you might dread.
Never mind all that; to Davey H, you could say, NYC is a bit like LA: nice to visit once in a very long epoch, but not a viable place to stay by any stretch.
Back – or forward – to today: Up until 2 am, Davey H could not muster any more verbiage before the clock struck midnight,
but was writing in other, equally unproductive venues. No wonder he dragged ass all day. Energy not stored is energy ignored. Once burned, has he learned? Hardly. After hours light and midnight plight. Roundabout and curlier; was Davey any earlier?
It was back up to Donnie Akker’s today to complete yesterday’s work. This wasn’t too much to ask as Davey was taken to task.
En route the sign said ‘Flagger Ahead’.
And in the sun he did bask.
The road was dusty yet reasonably clear,
and Davey continued on without fear.
The cops up in (Censored) were something to dread;
so “observe the speed limit” was quite often said.
Then it was time to hearken back to the early 2000s when the Don’t Laugh It’s Paid For Farm®©¤™ crew toiled for Jane & Dan Wolkus and played with their rowdy black lab Wonky. Sadly June got duped by the cancer industrial complex and met her demise after a long battle with the cancer AND toxicity from Pharma poisons.
Now here it was the 30th of January and it felt like time for a spring cleaning already. With this premonition firmly in mind, Davey H felt compelled to utter the following stanza;
“no use in bummin’ – you’ve plenty to do; springtime is comin’ and so too are you.”
He hastens to add the caveat that this observation takes into account the guaranteed increase in human population as a result of all that cumming.
Now here it was at the end of another month with multiple deadlines to face: car issues, a 100 word completion crunch and a nagging list of gigs that would pay decently if only he could get to them. “I’m not that important of a guy,” Davey [without phones] groans as if to sidestep the responsibilities laid upon him.
Another day of rank frustration;
what do they say of Chump’s administration?
How very little we are learning
as Australia keeps on burning.
Take heart, don’t yet abort;
in part because life is short.
For now, Davey H will keep his nose down and focus on what’s right in front of him, even when it requires crisscrossing the double yellow on dusty Akathisia road. It would be a brief work session at bob Vitulo’s this afternoon, January 31st. Ahhh, yes – back to the elderly apple trees. Now how much time would it take?
Whilst eyeing up the best of these,
he sees how small a cut he could make.
At the apple corral it is good for morale
and leaves much less mess in its wake.
To Davey’s spotty recollection, this was a cider pressing operation for the most part, as scab claimed a lot of the otherwise edible apples. Yet the boys who did the pressin’ had gone ape-nuts three years ago when they got some 200 gallons from what those old trees produced. Now who’s to say what confluence of factors contributed to that bumper crop of apples?
Oh, sure, one could go back and review meterological records
to see what had happened. For example:
an optimal spring with no late freeze;
the ideal thing for all fruit trees.
A tree sloth hired to judiciously prune
before dormancy expired; not late or soon...
then summer’s copious UV light:
El Sol’s miraculous powers!
A shaking off of shoot tip blight
and grandiose full flowers.
An absence of pests as unwanted guests;
hooray! A lack of bad actors;
thus we deduce the trees produce
all due to these auspicious factors!
Paper sucks. You can bet big bucks.
It’s temporary under the best circumstances.
One thing continually irks the paper user:
the way paper becomes concave with repeated strokes of the scrivener’s pen. The yellowing.
And oh, those damn dog ears.
But no matter; it was February 1st and Coronavirus was spreading; fearing the worst
no one knows where it’s heading.
But at Don’tLaughIt’sPaidForFarm™©®ß¿º»¶°¤, the ever-present banal mundane held sway.
A wall mount bathroom heater
[BUILD THE WALL!] was somewhat successfully hung but finish work remains to be done. Many temper flares were averted and tools were strewn about for some time, after which post-dramatic mess disorder set in.
Now before all things green up
would it be spring time cleanup?
Whilst out in the patter of hard right wing slant
to listen to chatter old Davey H can’t.
Besides, he has productive work to do.
An apple tree – that’s where he’ll be
unless he then forgets;
to watch the time in work sublime
until the dull sun sets.
The customer was home today and stopped briefly on his way out, likely en route to some doctor’s appointment. Such is the life of a serious octogenarian. Bob Vitulo is truly an inspiration to the grate Davey H, who himself is a mere (censored) years old. Feeling great he
may attain 80.
Now he has to frown but wants to smile
as he looks down at the paper pile.
His temper flared and oh, so fast, he
never cared but got quite nasty.
He agrees wholeheartedly with Raj Patel’s quote, “there’s no such thing as sustainable industrial agriculture.” Lots of other things presently practiced are equally unsustainable, to put it mildly. How about industrial scale fishing trawlers? Or farmed fish? Not a dish despite your wish.
Now it has been one day after the initial Iowa caucus bullshit debacle and nothing particularly earthshattering is apparent in the sleepy little town of (censored).
Pedestrians venture along sidewalks while texting and street cleaning machines left damp tracks on asphalt.
This, friends, could be the day our Chump was acquitted. And that naturally didn’t sit well with those still sitting. To the casual farmhand observer, our so-called leaders (aka ‘lawmakers) are deeply steeped in acrimony, a facet of their existence that is cemented in our psyches. This makes for an uninspiring panoply of poppycock.
Oh, dear – it’s really dark in here! But no matter, no patter, this much is clear: let the lack of light not be a plight or a dithering source of frustration
rather without blather it can be, you see, conducive to your meditation.
That being stated, with societal noise abated, you’d better just get to a-pushin’;
for time’s pretty skimpy, so don’t be so wimpy
and GET YOUR BUTT ON THE CUSHION!
Resons and seasons of ten, twelve or twenty; miserable denizens, yes, we have plenty.
In the land of ostensible plenty, no less;
looney-tune preppers, oh, yes, how’d you guess?
What a shit day. Not so nice to have less. But it’s good to have something external to blame it on: $850 spent on the anonymous year, make & model buggy.
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