Look yonder comin', mercy me
Three wise men in a SUV
Corporate logo on the side
Air-conditioned quiet ride
That thing don't run on french fry grease
That thing don't run on love and peace
Takes gasoline make that thing go
Now bring your hands up nice and slow
Take us to the land of milk and honey
Sing and dance all night long
Whatcha gonna do with all that money
Whatcha gonna do when that money's all gone
Negotiation's just no fun
And it don't serve our interests none
Gonna turn up the heat till it comes to a boil
So we can go get that Arab oil
And we'll suck it all up through the barrel of a gun
Everyday's the end of days for some
Republicans don't cut and run
Tell me ain't you proud of what we've done
Take us to the land of milk and honey
Sing and dance all night long
Whatcha gonna do with all that money
Whatcha gonna do when that money's all gone
You keep talking that shit like I never heard
Hush, little President, don't say a word
When the rapture comes and the angels sing
God's gonna buy you a diamond ring
Take us to the land of milk and honey
Sing and dance all night long
Whatcha gonna do with all that money
Whatcha gonna do when that money's all gone
(James McMurtry)
***
I seriously like James McMurtry. I heard that song on the radio the other day and I was all, "Whoa. Texas can't be ALL bad if James McMurtry lives here..."
Anyway, I have to go in a minute. I have to drop Rainy off somewhere and then I want to go hiking with Fraction before it gets too hot. (And by that I mean "MORE too hot.")
Oh, and before I forget to mention (and by that I mean "forget to mention as I've forgotten to mention in the last five blog entries..."), I swear to Science, I think someone is leaving strategically placed stacks of cool rocks along the hiking trail for me.
Yes. What I'm saying, is that I believe someone is wooing me with rocks.
Like, say, one of my readers in the Ottoman Empire has fallen totally in love with me and tracked me down to Texas. Followed all my careless clues. Studied my blog entries like... like... only an infatuated resident of the Ottoman Empire can do. Discovered the EXACT location of my hiking trail. Intuited the EXACT kind of rock I am obsessively collecting. And then, you know, traveled to America and Texas and some ridiculously small town within Texas. And then this love-stricken reader gets up very, very early each morning, hikes along my trail, collecting the PERFECT rocks, leaving them in convenient piles for me.
What? You think I'm making this up?
I'm so not! I swear to... you know... I keep finding stacks of rocks. (PERFECT rocks...) Set neatly beside the trail. Just... waiting for me.
At first I ignored it. Then I started thinking about the Ottoman Empire reader stuff and I couldn't help myself and began to eagerly take home these rocks.
But now as I sit here... I'm beginning to think it's some kind of trap. Like... if it isn't someone from the Ottoman Empire then the only other explanation is that I am being stalked by some deranged axe-wielding psychopath. (Because what else really makes sense, right?)
I'm thinking it must be a deranged axe-wielding psychopath and the rocks are, like, a trap to verify my identity. Because, think about it, who else is hiking with a terrier, filling her pockets and hands with rocks? Right? And by picking up the rocks I was sealing my doom.
Right?
Right.
***
In other news, there's an infant rat down my shirt. As we speak. Because Rainy just got in the shower and he asked me to keep his rat warm. He says, "Shawna likes to nestle."
Okay.
See, yesterday I was out watering my plants and chickens and our tabby cat Bootz came dashing in from the field, something squeaking pitifully in his mouth.
Long story short, it's a baby rat. Poor thing, way too young to be taken away from her mom. Probably snatched from her nest by cruel, cruel Bootz.
Trinity wanted to name the poor creature Disease, but Rainy named her Shawna. Rainy gives her tiny bits of scrambled egg and water. He slept on the floor beside my bed with Shawna in a terrarium. The rat would squeak at intervals, waking me up. I thought she was crying for her mother and it made me sad.
I give Shawna about a 50-50 chance of surviving. She has all her fur and even some tiny teeth, but she's very little and young. Rainy's going to be sad if she dies.
Of course none of the cats are taking this very well and we all know how long a cat can carry a grudge. (I model my grudge-carrying skillz on my felines....)
So that's why there's a rat nestled against my breast.
In case you're my deranged axe-wielding psychopath and you're currently watching me and wondering.
***
I better go.
Though wait. Someone answer me this: I flipping hike fifteen miles per week. FIFTEEN MILES. And I haven't lost an ounce. What's up with that?
Fifteen miles while CARRYING ROCKS.
Lots of rocks. In fact, I need to get a picture of my current rock garden so you can see how many freaking rocks I've brought home so far. (You'll be amazed. If you're not already stalking me, leaving me rocks asgifts traps, you'll want to start.)
Anyway. I haven't lost a pound.
It's just wrong.
***
I've got to go.
I wanted to write about my teacher. I'm thinking I should probably write abut this. If only as a method of processing. But I've gotta go...
Three wise men in a SUV
Corporate logo on the side
Air-conditioned quiet ride
That thing don't run on french fry grease
That thing don't run on love and peace
Takes gasoline make that thing go
Now bring your hands up nice and slow
Take us to the land of milk and honey
Sing and dance all night long
Whatcha gonna do with all that money
Whatcha gonna do when that money's all gone
Negotiation's just no fun
And it don't serve our interests none
Gonna turn up the heat till it comes to a boil
So we can go get that Arab oil
And we'll suck it all up through the barrel of a gun
Everyday's the end of days for some
Republicans don't cut and run
Tell me ain't you proud of what we've done
Take us to the land of milk and honey
Sing and dance all night long
Whatcha gonna do with all that money
Whatcha gonna do when that money's all gone
You keep talking that shit like I never heard
Hush, little President, don't say a word
When the rapture comes and the angels sing
God's gonna buy you a diamond ring
Take us to the land of milk and honey
Sing and dance all night long
Whatcha gonna do with all that money
Whatcha gonna do when that money's all gone
(James McMurtry)
***
I seriously like James McMurtry. I heard that song on the radio the other day and I was all, "Whoa. Texas can't be ALL bad if James McMurtry lives here..."
Anyway, I have to go in a minute. I have to drop Rainy off somewhere and then I want to go hiking with Fraction before it gets too hot. (And by that I mean "MORE too hot.")
Oh, and before I forget to mention (and by that I mean "forget to mention as I've forgotten to mention in the last five blog entries..."), I swear to Science, I think someone is leaving strategically placed stacks of cool rocks along the hiking trail for me.
Yes. What I'm saying, is that I believe someone is wooing me with rocks.
Like, say, one of my readers in the Ottoman Empire has fallen totally in love with me and tracked me down to Texas. Followed all my careless clues. Studied my blog entries like... like... only an infatuated resident of the Ottoman Empire can do. Discovered the EXACT location of my hiking trail. Intuited the EXACT kind of rock I am obsessively collecting. And then, you know, traveled to America and Texas and some ridiculously small town within Texas. And then this love-stricken reader gets up very, very early each morning, hikes along my trail, collecting the PERFECT rocks, leaving them in convenient piles for me.
What? You think I'm making this up?
I'm so not! I swear to... you know... I keep finding stacks of rocks. (PERFECT rocks...) Set neatly beside the trail. Just... waiting for me.
At first I ignored it. Then I started thinking about the Ottoman Empire reader stuff and I couldn't help myself and began to eagerly take home these rocks.
But now as I sit here... I'm beginning to think it's some kind of trap. Like... if it isn't someone from the Ottoman Empire then the only other explanation is that I am being stalked by some deranged axe-wielding psychopath. (Because what else really makes sense, right?)
I'm thinking it must be a deranged axe-wielding psychopath and the rocks are, like, a trap to verify my identity. Because, think about it, who else is hiking with a terrier, filling her pockets and hands with rocks? Right? And by picking up the rocks I was sealing my doom.
Right?
Right.
***
In other news, there's an infant rat down my shirt. As we speak. Because Rainy just got in the shower and he asked me to keep his rat warm. He says, "Shawna likes to nestle."
Okay.
See, yesterday I was out watering my plants and chickens and our tabby cat Bootz came dashing in from the field, something squeaking pitifully in his mouth.
Long story short, it's a baby rat. Poor thing, way too young to be taken away from her mom. Probably snatched from her nest by cruel, cruel Bootz.
Trinity wanted to name the poor creature Disease, but Rainy named her Shawna. Rainy gives her tiny bits of scrambled egg and water. He slept on the floor beside my bed with Shawna in a terrarium. The rat would squeak at intervals, waking me up. I thought she was crying for her mother and it made me sad.
I give Shawna about a 50-50 chance of surviving. She has all her fur and even some tiny teeth, but she's very little and young. Rainy's going to be sad if she dies.
Of course none of the cats are taking this very well and we all know how long a cat can carry a grudge. (I model my grudge-carrying skillz on my felines....)
So that's why there's a rat nestled against my breast.
In case you're my deranged axe-wielding psychopath and you're currently watching me and wondering.
***
I better go.
Though wait. Someone answer me this: I flipping hike fifteen miles per week. FIFTEEN MILES. And I haven't lost an ounce. What's up with that?
Fifteen miles while CARRYING ROCKS.
Lots of rocks. In fact, I need to get a picture of my current rock garden so you can see how many freaking rocks I've brought home so far. (You'll be amazed. If you're not already stalking me, leaving me rocks as
Anyway. I haven't lost a pound.
It's just wrong.
***
I've got to go.
I wanted to write about my teacher. I'm thinking I should probably write abut this. If only as a method of processing. But I've gotta go...
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