The Chain Cent

20 November 2020

One of the earliest productions of the U.S.Mint, the “Chain Cent” would set you back several pretty pennies if you wanted to score one for yourself.  It enjoyed a relatively brief tenure among US coinage, less than a year, particularly as compared to our present Lincoln Cent’s century of endurance. 

Legend has it that many objected to the chain because it evokes chattel slavery.  That’s a plausible argument, but I doubt it was the prime cause.  While slavery was thought to be immoral and repugnant by many in the Eighteenth Century, such folk were in fact a minority, and often considered to be unfit for polite society.  Slavery was still the living heritage of history, sanctioned by faith and tradition and the natural human desire to not want to be seen as rocking the boat. 

Another obvious evocation of chains is political bondage, and many found that antithetical to still recent revolutionary and secessionist sentiments.  Whatever the whole truth may be, now obscured by centuries, the design never saw another year. 

And that was fitting.

The chain, intended to represent “indivisibility,” was never supported by the literal confederate language of the Constitution, and is, in fact, undermined by the Tenth Amendment (and by ratification language from various State legislatures). It certainly is a cool specimen, but as a matter of policy for the official mint of what Mr Lincoln USED TO call The Grand Confederacy, the chain had to go.

Deep State Suppression, Excessive Snivelry

“…. if it weren’t for Negan, we’d just have anarchy!”

29 November 2019“Lefty Moms” Please try to conceal your deep misandry from your young sons. “Mommy hates men” equals “Mommy hates me” which often equals “I hate me” which leads to young men poisoning themselves with pube-blockers, murdering their classmates, or mutilating themselves.

2 December 2019Anti-Semitism is abhorrent, revolting, stupid, and the natural consequence of demographics and human nature.
First, people conflate.  They attribute the characteristics of the sole example to the group.  Suppose my Granny were raped by a Romulan.  Should I assume therefore that all Romulans are rapists?  Bigots are eager to conflate.
Second, dumb people hate smart people.  “Don’t you get smart with me!  I will slap that smart mouth right off your face!”  Or murder your entire tribe.  It’s along that same continuum (albeit a little extreme) of resentment and revulsion for light, clarity, and coherence.
Finally, Jews (on average) are smarter than everybody else.  Therefore, dumb people, who are the majority, hate Jews the most.  And they conflate, so they like to pretend it’s because the Jews killed the Christ.

reposted from WorkkSeitt discourse, 24 May 2020Memorial Day is a painful reminder of the heavy personal cost of the Occupation’s aggressive and destructive foreign policy.  I mourn the victims who have died to enrich the Military Industrial Complex.  Pax, Peace, Salaam, and Shalom! correspondent AG writesMemorial Day is a bad day for me.  All my battle buddies I have lost thank you.

30 May 2020 — Can we expect Madeleine (“Worth it”) Albright to endorse Jo Jorgensen’s vagina for the Presidency as she did Hillary (“Lady MacBubba“) Clinton’s in 2016?  (And maybe, albeit quietly, Governor Palin’s pudendum in 2008?) Or is she resigned to spending an eternity in that special Circle of Hell, to which she referred in 2016, that is reserved for those vaginal voters who will not support female candidates?  update 200822: Unless Madame Secretary is already resigned to spending an eternity in hell for her murder of thousands of children?

2 June 2020  — With his threats to “Send in the Military” to various riot zones throughout the Union, sans invitations from the States, Donald Trump risks going from perhaps the least bad President since Jimmy Carter to maybe the worst since Abe Lincoln. update 200622: If he doesn’t stop killing Yemeni children soon, I may have to fall back from my present assessment to “least bad since Reagan.” I dread his contesting the Bushbamatons for bloodthirst.

13 June 2020  — For being such a pointless and meaningless expression, “Defund the Police” is unnecessarily potent and provocative in many quarters, and lends itself to the most outlandish nihilistic scenarios.   
But what does it mean?  I’m all for defunding Narco and Vice and no knock raids and BATFire and Zoning and, well… basically anything that gets in the face of peaceful people going about their own business.  Otherwise, as long as bad people keep trying to hurt the innocent, we’re going to want some kind of insurance against injury.  In a free market, GetLife and TheHardCorps will find it’s more profitable to protect their clients than to pay them off, and no one will find it profitable to beat up pot heads and prostitutes.

“Heroic Art” (15 August 2020) If it’s a contest then the Soviets have been the reigning champs for decades. The Nazis were also good, as well as our own FedGov. Collectivist propaganda in general is the best! The practice is horrific, of course, but the artwork is magnificent. I guess it works that way in most media. Janis Ian’s compositions were much better (she’s still great!) before she realized she was a lesbian and decided to stop torturing herself. As a not yet professional novelist I have to wonder. Am I prepared to suffer enough to actually be any good at what I do?

8 November 2020  — To Republicans whining about “Suppression Polls” discouraging you from voting: Fuck you very much. I’ve been voting for Losertarians since 1976, and not a single poll suggested that my candidate would win. It did not stop me from voting anyway because, one, I’m not a Demoblican wimp, and, two, I never voted to impress pollsters anyway. Nor am I about to waste any sympathy on anyone who would let notorious liars dictate his choices. Maybe you lost. Maybe they cheated. Focus on those details but spare us the whining about alleged “suppression” before the fact. Libertutionists and Constitarians have [taken it up the ass] too long to [cry over your butthurt].

The Tax Bite

31 March 2002

Federal, state, and local taxes, combined with our efforts to comply with them or to avoid them account for the wasting of fully half of our productive capacity. To release our full creative potential we must lift the crushing burden of the state from the engine of prosperity. A Libertarian Congress will eliminate the federal income tax. Present Federal claims of real property are more than enough to buy our way out of what may well be an awkward transition as the Federal Welfare State is dismantled and the Federal Debt is resolved. Some Libertarians make the argument, and it is not without merit, that the Federal Government had no legitimate claim to the vast West that it administers (or mismanages), and that these lands are properly already the property of the people or the states. However, I think the issue of Federal assets is one worth exploring, and may well provide us with the means to retire the Federal debt without the prospect of default, dislocation, or widespread social violence. When the jig is up, and people see that not only is the emperor naked, but his promised feast has already been eaten by previous congresses, I fear that many disaffected people will respond with violence rather than forbearance.

Republicans talk a fair free-trade position, but when it comes down to it, they’re all too happy to raise tariffs to protect their contributors. Welfare for the wealthy is just as destructive of the free market as withholding income taxes from workers’ paychecks. Democrats talk a great deal about compassion, but they’re always ready to raise taxes to support their pet lobbyists. Millions of families are supported by two wage-earners. One works to pay the mortgage, buy the groceries, and put braces on the children’s teeth. The other works to pay Uncle Ben and Uncle Sam. America doesn’t need more “free” goodies from the federal trough. We certainly don’t need subsidized child-care. We need real tax cuts so that Ward can stay home and take care of Wally and the Beaver while June goes to the office. Or vice versa.

update 180304: It would be remiss not to mention that additional peoples‘ property claims (both in the islands, and throughout the States) continue to manifest. The Lakota Republic, for example, and their Silver Bank, are securing their local and native interests against an uncertain future, while elsewhere other secessionist movements, from Cascadia to The Coral Republic, plan for their post-united States.
Uncle Ben” is Benjamin Cayatano, Governor of the State of Hawaii in 2002, and the hero of creepy old men throughout the islands when he vetoed the legislatures’ raising the legal age of consent from fourteen to sixteen. Said heroism was thwarted when the legislature overrode his veto with their super-majority. The general infantilization of Western Civilization continues today as talk is bandied about over raising the minimum age to purchase certain scary looking guns to twenty-one years.
Aaaaand El Donaldo continues to demonstrate his fealty to mercantilist mythology. Republicans, meanwhile, cling to their traditional bad economics and base social appeal. Fremont’s Folly may have come full circle. New tariffs and nativist retrenchment echo the Proto-Republican Know-Nothings of the Nineteenth Century.
At this point, powdered Whigs wouldn’t surprise me.

These comments are sponsored by The Confederate Mint (purveyors of metallic securities in gold, silver, copper, and lead).  For sample sheets of Metallic Certificates (total face value One Tenth Silver Dollar) send One Silver Dime plus a self-addressed stamped envelope; or Four United States Legal Tender Federal Reserve “Dollars” in scrip, check, or money order, to Greigh Area Associates, c/o Gene Greigh //  401 Rio Concho Drive, #105;  San Angelo, Texas;  76903

“There Are No Innocent Third Parties”

27 July 2020  

This may be the favorite refrain of mass-murderers, spoiled children, and statesmen.  (Although “he made me” is a serious contender.)

When the U.S. government destroyed Iraq’s infrastructure, and placed an embargo over her skies and shores, hundreds of thousands of Iraqi’s died of malnutrition and/or other hygienic complications.  “Worth it,” according to Madeleine Albright.  Naturally, well-intentioned Wahabists had no choice but to fly airplanes into the World Trade Towers, thereby killing thousands more.  Of course, they deserved to die, because “there are no innocent third parties.”

When Timothy McVey took down the Murrah Building in Oklahoma City, hundreds died.  Not to worry, it was a federal building, full of collaborators, and there are no innocent third parties.

When the Cavalry cleaned out the savages at Sand Creek and Wounded Knee, they were doing the Lord’s work.  These animals were in the way of Manifest Destiny.  Besides, nits grow into lice, and there are no innocent third parties.

When Sergeant Bales decided to go hunting Afghans, he ran afoul of the Uniform Code of Military Justice.  Why?  They were ragheads, weren’t they?  Hadn’t they defied their liberators? Aren’t there no innocent third parties?

When General Sherman bombed Solomon Luckie’s barber shop in downtown Atlanta, it didn’t trouble his conscience at all.  By cutting the hair of soldiers and engineers and grocers, Luckie was contributing to the Confederate Economy, and there are no innocent third parties.

When a Blue Knee crushed the life out of a Brown Neck, ardent and committed activists had no choice but to batter journalists, harass motorists, and to burn down convenience stores*, because there are no innocent third parties.

(* Also Korean barbecues, Jewish delis, Gay bakeries, and Christian bookstores)

There are many ways to say, “there are no innocent third parties.”  Popular options run the spectrum from “let’s beat up the haole kid” to “nuke ‘em all and let Allah sort ‘em out.”

update 200822:  Freely associating Robert Bales to Nidal Hassan to Chris Kyle to Edward Snowden, I am moved to point out that all four were committed activists who took matters into their own hands.  Personally, I think Bales and Hassan should stretch ropes, or be securely indentured to the families of their victims, I’m not sure.  I’m surer about Kyle and Snowden, and much clearer on their differences:  One was a hero who risked his life to protect the rights of all Americans, the other one shot strangers from a safe distance.

These comments are sponsored by The Confederate Mint (purveyors of metallic securities in gold, silver, copper, and lead).  For sample sheets of Metallic Certificates (total face value One Tenth Silver Dollar) send One Silver Dime plus a self-addressed stamped envelope; or Four United States Legal Tender Federal Reserve “Dollars” in scrip, check, or money order, to Greigh Area Associates, c/o Gene Greigh //  401 Rio Concho Drive, #105;  San Angelo, Texas;  76903

Innocent Backstanders

3 October 2020  

Chris Wallace plays a journalist on TV.  He feigns objectivity as he loads his “questions” with assumptions and accusations and demands that any opponents to the Deep State pledge to stop beating their wives and cheating on their taxes.

How I remember it (paraphrased):

CWWill you condemn far right violence?
DT:  Sure.
CW:  I’m not taking “yes” for an answer.  When will you tell your violent alt-right white supremacist supporters that behavior like Charlottesville is unacceptable?
DT:  Who do you want me to denounce?  Give me a name.
JB (quietly):  Proud Boys?
CW:  Will you tell them to stand down?
DT:  Sure.  Stand back and stand by, but the real problem is with the radical left and antiFA and –
CW:  Moving on…

Chris is clearly in on it, knowing that a hypervigilant response to one threat necessitates neglecting other (sometimes more pressing) problems.  Violence is okeh as long as it serves the needs of the Deep State, and honest journalism is also acceptable, as long as it serves the needs of propaganda.  Otherwise, inconvenient facts are to be dismissed.  Like Mr Trump’s often repeated, generally neglected, and long forgotten condemnations of racist supremacism.  (“Good people on both sides” explicitly referenced those who would contest the suitability of historical monuments in public spaces, and not Nazis versus Commies.)

Here’s another inconvenient fact that was missed or dismissed by both the Deep State’s handmaiden and Kamala’s stalking horse:  The Proud Boys are a pan-racial organization of dudes who like the idea of feminine women, masculine men, and Western Civilization, and are generally disinclined to apologize for their testicles.  Also hanging out with other dudes who feel the same way.  Mainly, they’re educated frat boys.  They may not back down, but their policy is to not START the fight.  Proud Boys’ spokesmodel Enrique Tarrio might be surprised to learn that he is a white supremacist, but maybe not.  After all, distorting the truth is the Deep State’s specialty, and Chris and Joe are both obedient subalterns.

update 201004:
I suppose I should cross reference this file to Bad Poetry now.

Hickory Sticks Lie Handy
(meter stolen from Ragni, Rado, & MacDermot)

(Bubble Gum verses)

Proud Boys are auspicious, cutting edge of fun!
Take a stand for manhood!
Protect the neighborhood good!
Bodycheck antiFA ’fore they burn us down!

It’s a time of trials, and liberty retreats.
Society’s gone crazy, their reasoning’s all hazy
Because they dance in rhythm to a socialistic beat!

“Proud Boys are atrocious, neo-Nazi scum!”
“They terrorize the townsfolk!”
“They’re only here to provoke!”
At least that’s what they tell us on the lame TeeVee!

Red and Black and White and Brown and Proud Boys!

(Mo’Town verses)

Proud Boys stand for reason, Proud Boys hold the line,
‘fyou just wish to voice your protest, the Proud Boys say, “That’s fine!”
But if you’re… here for trouble, they’ll step up…. on the double.
You get a chance to walk away, and if you don’t you’ll rue that day!

‘cause Proud Boys handle biz’ness, Proud Boys don’t take shit.
If you hassle Proud Boys’ comrades, expect a busted lip!
Oh the left wing… they call ‘em racist, or neo-crypto fascist!
But I think they’re all stand up boys, and I cannot resist!

Now mainly… they’re just frat boys, with advanced degrees,
Who’ve discerned that leftist thinking is cognitive disease!
Show me a proud, a strong, a righteous,
A smart and noble, courageous,  PROUD BOY…
proud boy… PROUD BOY… proud boy… PROUD BOY!
They’re here for us!

Tactical Privilege

29 December 2019

“At least with a knife, an attacker wouldn’t be able to do as much damage as with a gun.”  Okeh, sure, ceteris parabus. But all things are NOT equal.

Two sad and revolting scenes in two days.  Sad, but instructive: 

Bipedal garbage walks into a church in New York with a knife and manages to stab five before being subdued.

Anthropoid filth walks into a church in Texas with a gun and shoots two before being stopped by armed parishioners.

Admittedly, two data are hardly sufficient for statistical rigor, but anecdotes (as gun-grabbers well know) can be illustrative, instructive, and potent.  Assuming they were equally suitable to your particular flavor of faithful celebration, which church would you attend?  I’m not especially mindful of people’s delicate little feelings in re scary guns, so I’m stuck with the math.  I believe that two fresh corpses make for a less tragic day than five.  Et tu?

“Say her name.”

24 September 2020  

That’s easy. 

Ashli Babbitt. Allison Krause.  Sandra Scheuer. 
Breonna Taylor.  Vickie Weaver.

Easy and sad and tedious. 
If we really wanted to be tiresome we could go through the roles at
Sand Creek and Wounded Knee and Mount Carmel, too. 

The litany of government privileged murder goes on and on. 

(Also known as, “We’re Blue.  Screw you.”)

“Murder?” many may bleat, 
“Wasn’t Ms Taylor accidentally killed by defensive fire?”

That’s arguable.  And irrelevant.  She was killed after armed men showed up at her home to suppress capitalism. 
That was the crime, and according to felony murder doctrine…

update 210415: Since the unnamed operative who shot and killed
Ashli Babbitt, crawling through a window and presenting
NO IMMINENT THREAT TO ANYONE, but still desecrating the
Sacred Space of the Capitol, has just been “exonerated” by his accomplices in the “Justice Department,” I thought it fitting to add Ms Babbit to the sad roll of “Say Her Name” victims. But apparently, according to the subalterns of the church, her killing was NOT sinful,
but the righteous response to her obvious
Blasphemy Against the State Religion.

Poker Night

18 February 2019

I like to imagine that some of my favorite Legionnaires, Brainiac 5, Bouncing Boy, Ultra Boy, Colossal Boy, and I (Lethargy Lad) get together every other Saturday night to play poker and pass the pipe. Sometimes the girls like to hang out too, which is great, because Kara can always quick chill our beers (Jo can‘t do it because when he drinks he forgets to switch powers and then he risks frostbiting his own fingers), and Yera usually manages to dig up some cousin or another for me who often looks amazingly like Bettie Page or Myrna Loy.

Playing poker with Brainy can be a mixed bag. The man knows his odds, but he can’t read anybody’s tells, and we can all read his. We generally clean him out.

update 200914: I adore Brainy! Don’t get me wrong. I generally tease most those I love most. It hadn’t occurred to me until recently (I can be astonishingly dense) that most of my favorite fictional characters share the same “defect” (aspect?) as I: Sherlock Holmes, Mark Duquesne, Brainiac 5, and Red Forman are all either unable or unwilling to sustain the pretense that people are not fools. In my case and Brainy’s I think it’s mainly unable. We try to be nice (he is a Legionnaire, after all!) but it’s just so hard. I think Red and Sherlock are mainly nice guys, too, but Sherlock is also coked out, and Red is just so fed up. (Blacky Duquesne was an evil bastard, of course, but still, standards are standards.)

“The Road to Closure, vol 12”

I am not a [dick!]

7 July 2002  —  Voting has gotten to be way too easy.
It should be inconvenient. It should take a deliberate effort, not a thoughtless reflex. I particularly oppose Mail-in Ballots and the ever-popular Motor Voter Registration programs that have spread across the union. Think about it. They give drivers’ licenses to just about anybody. Do you want the helm of the Republic in the hands of someone who can’t be troubled to use a turn signal?

2 March 2002 — Election Interference
When talkin’ ‘Merican, many voters will explain their choice as follows: “Ah seen him on Teevee!  He’s go’n’ whoop them ter’rists!”  In English that becomes: “I’m only aware of him because I’ve seen him on television, and I imagine that he will demean, denigrate, trounce, humiliate, and defeat those violent criminals.”

20 April 2023 —
“In my mind and in my car,
We can’t rewind, we’ve come too far.
[Honesty killed the dream of regard.]”

17 July 2019 and endlessly on…

Lethargy Lad’s continuing complaints:
Wojew gocoj fuqwa “Oly wed toxim gocoj oxirret qikol!” ndiap sexy.
( — gey —
Dprij Juikiquakup opdyx Yotig )

21 August 2022
The Bamboozler never said, or fresher assumptions should now override the old, but Early Riser was explicit about it, and even seemed delighted to point it out. I would not be on the inside of the deal. Which is fine, of course. I never expected any inheritance from ANY Former Arch Nemeses. In fact, it would be rather surprising. A most delightful disappointment indeed. But what was the point of telling me? Did I react wrong? Should I have been visibly distraught? Will I ever learn to fight right? (To The Bamboozler‘s great credit, she was never the hinter her predecessors were.)

3 September 2022…

Maybe I should start with another apology for the traumatic water heater situation. It was a year ago, while still residing at their northern estate, that their water heater finally failed. It had been leaking intermittently for a while prior to that, and I had maintained the situation with occasional mopping. In retrospect, I think the slow leak would take its time about saturating the insulation until overcoming surface tension, after which time, it would spill out across the tiled laundry room floor. I looked into replacing it and was even prepared to pay for it all. After all, in one sense, it was just one example of the depreciation and degradation that mere occupancy will inflict on a home. So, like the lawn or the trash, I just figured this was another of my custodial responsibilities. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of telling them about it, which led to their deep pain and moral anguish. Because I was in no particular hurry to deal with it, they had to imagine the horrors of my taking showers and washing the dishes and laundry in tepid water during some of the hottest months of the year. For months they suffered! What a hardship, and how thoughtless of me to have done such a horrible thing to them. There’s no telling from whence they will seize offense next, and I should really be more careful about foisting such onerous concerns onto them.

Or maybe I shouldn’t. I can’t always tell for sure. Sometimes NOT apologizing is wrong. Sometimes trying to help makes things worse. Even when they can no longer evict me from their houses or hearts, I still agonize over feeeeelings. (When was I ever a nice guy?) Best not risk it, then. Passive can be as wrong as active, but it takes less effort… I should start over, and maybe start burying the above.

13 July 2022

After being evicted from two hearts and two homes, the losses of material things seem to sting less, but as the (all too familiar) pain of rejection gradually abates, the loss of cherished possessions from childhood reasserts itself. So while I will endure and go on to face additional rejections, the hunt goes on. The loss of some dishes, some clothing, and other odd items, are both annoying and trivial, but generally bearable. The loss of some books, however, hurts rather more deeply.

4 September 2022

Dear Sugar & Bud

Thank you for the box of goods. It arrived in (mostly) good order, though the battery driven adding machine doesn’t appear to be salvageable. While I expect the little used boots probably contain the highest market value of all the contents, I think the carefully bubble wrapped glass butter dish is the most welcome and cherished, beyond your kind letter, of course.

Having just now achieved my own personal “666” (being now, to the nearest whole month, 6 decades, 6 years, and 6 months old) I am only now relenting to making my “deal with the devil” and going through the trauma and tedium of applying for reparations (aga “Social Security.”) Maybe I’m not doing a very good or timely job of it, but what else should we expect from me? And somehow, this too might be seen as some sort of an attack on others, even as I can barely imagine how (again.)

Tichelle’s Bogus Journey” – The Greigh Area
(…has been calved off onto its own post)

10 September 2022

As I finally manage to get my things out of L’Historienne‘s and Willo‘s garage and to reconstitute a household here at the top of Geezer Tower (aka “Rio Concho Manor”), the loss of cherished possessions from childhood reasserts itself. So the hunt resumes. The loss of some dishes, some clothing, and other odd items, are both annoying and trivial, but generally bearable. The loss of some things, however, hurts rather more deeply.

Have you seen these lost loved ones?

Tanglewood Tales (published in 1934), by Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Scavengers in Space (pub. 1958), by Alan E. Nourse
Brave New World (pub. 1980), by Aldous Huxley
by Robert Heinlein, various pub. dates: Assignment in Eternity, Beyond this Horizon, The Day After Tomorrow, Farmer in the Sky, Have Space Suit Will Travel, The Number of the Beast, To Sail Beyond the Sunset, The Cat Who Walked Through Walls, The Star Beast, Starman Jones, Tunnel in the Sky, I Will Fear No Evil. My paperback copy of Time Enough for Love made it here safely, and I believe I left yours on your shelf, so be assured, I assert no claim on any of your property. (Although, having now said as much, I expect that maybe I shouldn’t have. But if I hadn’t, I probably should have… )

Missing box numbered DQN032 contained most Silver Age X-Men issue numbers from 9 to 66, plus a few reprints from 67 to 92, Amazing Adventures 1 to 14, (reprinting X-Men 1 to 8), Amazing Spider-man 92, Marvel Team-Up 4, plus various late Silver and early Bronze X-Appearances in other Marvel mags. I have very little expectation of recovering that box, so its absence represents the loss of at least a kilobuck. I guess I could call that another “moving expense.” Fortunately, Marvel’s X-material is very popular, and frequently reprinted, so I have high hopes for its eventual and complete recovery in the sense that matters most to this fanboy — stories and pictures!

The Beatles’ Anthology three release sets totaling six CDs. Fortunately, I have a copy of my one disc edit of the most significant selections, but still… It’s the Beatles! (*sob*) But again, like the X-Men, the Beatles enjoy such enduring popularity that their works will likely never be out of determined reach.

Reliable air conditioning is required for West Texas living, and Geezer Tower is well equipped. Tichelle and I live on the tenth floor. She’s been in the elevator just the once, though I use it regularly. About as often as not I’ll walk down the stairs, but I have yet to walk all nine flights up.

I’m sorry but not surprised to learn of Joguv‘s mental state. I wish that only the most joyous of clarities break through her cognitive fog. And I know that my not helping with her heavy lifting counts against me.

If I could, I’d give Spanky and Loki and Buddy the sternest of looks. Bud should explain chivalry to these boys. They look to him for masculine guidance.

Texas is no stranger to nasty bugs. I believe I’ve spotted at least one red hourglass image (the arachnid version of gang colors), but it was in the wild, and I viewed it from a safe distance.

I am delighted to live so close to My Best Girl and her impressive swain. Willo (NEVER call him “Willie“) is presently out of town, on the pro/am chess circuit, or so he’d have us believe. He still neither denies nor confirms being a hitman or secret agent. He concedes that his cover could easily seem suspect. Of course, dozens of students do much to support his story, but he could be paying them off like Walter’s and Jesse’s legions of smurfs.

I miss ya’ll as well. I miss dominating you at cornhole, and I miss being humiliated at Oh Hell and Sharp Shooters. I miss sharing meals, laughs, video, and comedy. I also miss the various masonry projects that I was allowed to pursue. But, since that ended abruptly in the summer of 2019, I’m mainly “over it.” I definitely DO NOT miss endless issues.

From FascBuch, Jimofent Updjuluf (Byk‘s present sweetie) is looking for participants in an organized puzzle exchange. I mentioned to her that I might know of some possibilities, and she has authorized me to give you her address:
Jimofent Updjuluf and Dprijyr Byk
2047 Gemiud Street
Jewrogey, Wojontaxon; 98041

Work hard, rest easy, laugh often, and love endlessly.

14 September 2022
Jaxon,
L’Historienne clued me in to your impending nuptials, and I wanted to offer my congratulations and also my assurances that, based on my observations of the consummate trouper with whom I shared many a moment, both on and off stage, that your sweetie is getting a pretty good deal. I expect, based on my recollections of your general good sense, that you may also think you’re scoring big time. Given your previous pursuits of excellence, you don’t strike me as the sort to settle for too little. I am delighted to learn of the union and wish for you both the greatest of happiness. Please also convey my kindest regards to Max, Julie, Al, &al…

Your Friend and Mine,
Lethargy Lad

25 September 2022

Being as fully aware as I am that no good deed goes unpunished, I will nevertheless try again. Of all the things I am good at, giving up is not one of them.

Happy Impending Birth Month!
This season is rich with personal holidays (for me), even though my own birthday is not among them. Which is fine, of course, my own birthday tends to be far less perilous than all the others, so I’m safest blowing that one off. But this season… WOW! It is clustered tight with joy, and I wish especially for the two of you to enjoy your own happy nativity anniversaries as you best see fit. (And a nod to Sputnik, too.)

I may have been a bit hasty in giving my car permission to die once it got me safely to Texas. On the other hand, its late failures have given me a chance to get much better acquainted with Rudy and his team of automotive specialists. The cruise control gave up somewhere between Missouri and here, and the brake lights failed soon after. I think I may have mentioned that around the time. Before L’Historienne took it to Oregon in June, I took it back to Rudy for inspection and then had the front left wheel hub replaced (plus other expensive parts and labor). Finally, earlier this month, after realizing that I’d been replenishing the brake fluid a little too frequently, I took it back to find that twenty plus winters on salt roads had corroded the underside extensively, taking much of the brake lines with it, so I’d been expressing fluid at every intersection as I stood on the pedal, but never noticed any puddling where I parked. Nevertheless, I figured new brake lines, even if Rudy’s crew had to rebuild them, would be less costly than charges of vehicular homicide.

Tichelle has begun to explore the hall outside our room a little bit. My heart breaks for her, she is far removed from her backyard, and has had no opportunity as yet to roll in the grass, chase sticks, kill leaves, or eat bugs. Well, maybe she’s found a bug or two in the apartment. I haven’t noticed. My great fear (and great present guilt) is that I am doing to her what Frau Braun (“hwih-niiih-nih!”) and the State of Oregon, enwrapped as they were in the Wuhan Willies, did to my mother. Murder by house arrest is just too sad a death to inflict on such free spirits. I’ll keep working on getting Tiche farther and farther into the hallway. Sooner or later, I’ll get her back on the ground.

Happy Birthdays again. I miss ya’ll and the fun and the lake and the cats, and I even miss Monsieur’s Buckets. L’Historienne and Willo have a lovely compost heap growing outside their house, and my coffee grounds and vegetable clippings are far too distant to be thrown on daily, and I have no convenient storage yet.

Not sure if I properly notified you (nor if in my clumsy attempts, I managed to actually make things worse again) of the safe arrival of the box of goods, but thanks (again?), especially for the bubble-wrapped butter dish!

13 December 2022
One swing past three may well be foul the fourth,
So, a little extra effort, for all it may be worth.
Thanks for everything, and be well.

4 March 2023
Are references to baseball also considered a diss?
Can it go so far as “Keep my team’s name outyo fuckin’ mouf?”
This same phenomenon may also have rendered the Angry Fan less generic than I’d intended. Not sure now whether to write, count, or read some more.
As likely as not, not quite…

14 April 2023 — Bat Slippers!
We had these (and other designs) for sale at the QuikkStopp-by-the-River® (which does sound a lot to me like a step toward livin’ in a van down by the river), but they were discontinued because they were not moving, so management gave them to the staff, and I thought there might be fitting feet in Harrodsburg.
My compliments, et cetera…
That doesn’t look so bad. No mention of theatrics, bean-counting, or spokesmodeling. And the only attempted humor is self-deprecating. So that should be okeh, though I guess it could misfire. Time to pause and reflect again. “Harrodsburg,” or the “United Kingdoms?” If I can resolve that puzzle, and no other hidden traps or errors present themselves before then, maybe I’ll try the mails again tomorrow or next week.
15 April 2023 — Okeh, that still looks mostly benign, though I’m now wondering if “suitable feet” might be considered less provocative than “fitting,” alliteration being yet another way I look down on people. Overall, I don’t see how anything other than friendliness or kindness might be inferred from either the gesture itself or the actual text above, but the eagerly aggrieved are much more committed to their cause than I am to mine, or at least more alert to presumed assaults. And the slightest of slights (real or imagined) become fresh casus belli. (Okeh, better ditch “Presenting,” too, as that could be construed as too theatrical.)
18 April 2023 — Bat Cave Investigations?
Walking to church the other day I was reflecting on all the empty storefronts throughout this town and I happened upon 227B Main Street so I misremembered and rued that it wasn’t Baker Street instead, though that might be too Irregular anyway, since I’d misremembered Sherlock’s proper 221B. But I was still warmed by the thought that we would one day open up our detective agency. “Bat Cave Investigations” might invite some heat from Warner and DC, but “Walking Dog Security” remains viable (though round these parts local icon Hank the Cowdog might think we was a movin’ in on his turf.) Or maybe just “Sigmund Walks Far, Freudian Investigator.” Though it is hard to beat the elegant simplicity of “By Appointment Only.
Now that’s completely benign. Simply comradely and nostalgic, refrying some reliable old schticks that we once seemed to enjoy. This should be safe to include, though… Of course, it could be construed as “gaslighting” or “guilt tripping.” I’ve been accused before of “trying to put that on me” by a couple of different contestants. Good question, Professor ‘Iggins, “Why can’t a woman* be more like a man.” (*or other self-identified human-person with feelings)

26 April 2023 — Okeh, I guess that second installment is a bit much. It’s probably a little too familiar at this point, and maybe even embarrassingly Pollyannish. Silly loses its luster. I may have to settle for cordial, if even that remains possible.

Frau Raachen, the sound is shockin’, and the grief just won’t be stilled.
I never knew such a bitter pill would be fed me against my will.

You’d think that after three failed “marriages” I’d have learned something. Oh I did: No good deed goes unpunished. Being right is the worst possible defense. And no matter how small, trivial, and unimportant the complaint, it can be blown completely out of proportion. I kind of did know most of that stuff, growing up as I did with Earth-people and embedded with one of their most vindictive and bitter sects, the Hillbillies. But still, for all the time I’ve spent watching the eagerly aggrieved seize offense, I still can’t see the insult in my intended message. It still looks thoroughly benign, warm, and even friendly. But I know it’s there, just waiting to be fanned into a conflagration by the most determined of wills. Oh well, as they say, “Nothing ventured…’

20 May 2023 = the nights are often punctuated by absence, the most recent, and longest enduring, easily the deepest impact… it goes on… how else?

29 May 2023 = Uh… I may have just done it again. “Eagerly Aggrieved” may well be as potent as “Angry Fan.” I know I can edit it, but it’s just so good! I could kiss up, I have in the past, but having been shown the futility of it all… At least I can still take comfort, or at least ephemeral satisfaction, in the literary elegance.

“Okeh” is like, you know, da kine.

7 February 2020

Irrespective of its ironic nativity and originally specific definition (“Oll Korrect,” or suitable, satisfactory, or passable), the word “okay” (or “okeh”), in common English usage, has taken on a number of definitions, each dependent on context.

In response to inquiries after conditions (“How’s the bread?”  “How are you feeling?”) it retains its original definition.

In response to solicitations of affirmation (“Will you wash the dishes?”  “Would you like a bag?”) it means “yes.”

In response to an imperative statement (“Wash the dishes.”  “Stop that.”  “Come here.”) it means “Yes, ma’am!”

In response to a declarative statement (“They’re here.”  “I think it’s going to rain.”  “I guess it’s free.”  “I want you to wash the dishes.”) it means almost nothing.  “Almost nothing” of course, meaning something.  Usually it means “Yeah, I heard you.  You don’t need to say it again.”

1 March 2023
So, I guess the beatings were my reward for not hiding well enough or long enough. Or maybe they were fully justified, as they were based on my “smart mouth” or “that look.” The crime of “that look” was the biggest surprise. Reflecting over the decades, I guess “that look” was the residue of my horror and my contempt and my disgust that anyone would take such pleasure in inflicting injury and anguish on the helpless and the innocent.