Attribute to L. Neil Smith’s The Libertarian Enterprise

I was going to post a picture of one of them there bald-headed eagles flying over my house, but now I can't find it. Dang it, always something, rarely something good.

And, and, and, gotta remove “Betty Crocker” from all them boxes, being a dead white person, and add instead a … a … black person of color that's been removed from all them other boxes because … because … well hell, I don't really know why they were removed. That's what happens when ya try and make sense out of the world.

And, and, and, “White lives matter” is racist. And “All live matter” is racist. And “Black lives matter” is not racist. How does that work, exactly? And what about me? I'm pink—do Pink Lives Matter? Why or why not? Does My Life Matter? Does Your Life Matter? Somebody is trying to put something over on somebody right here. But trying to talk about that seems to also be racist. Or something.

In other news, the F150 is still broken. The washing machine is still broken. The water heater is still broken. My life is still broken. I would go hide under the bed, but I don't fit, I done already tried. Dang it.

I have heard that hiding under the bed does not really work, but I do remember when I was a little kid, in school we would practice hiding under our chair-desks to escape from atomic bombs and tornadoes. Them chair-desks was awfully flimsy, and thinking back on it I really suspect another case of complete hooie there. In fact, most of my childhood seemed to be surrounded by hooie. I think there may have been a lot of that going around.

And on that note (I believe it was an E-flat) we now go and ride off into the sunset until another week or weak has passed.

Try to remain in the state of deplorableness, my friends.