Would ya' vote fer this fella?
Akshully, nuthin' as grand as a "thought," jes' random, chaotic, non-connected flitterings that may be closer to TIAs than thoughts.
Afore she died, Granny Cracker sank into somethin' the docs called "CO2 Narcosis" one feature of which is confused thinkin'. Even when confused, though, the thoughts be based on a real event. Heah's one that Granny had:
AuntyBelle: "Morin' Granny, how ya be today?"
GrannyCracker: "Not so good, darlin', they ain't never brought mah breakfast."
AB: "Oh now, thas' a surprise, it bein' 11:00. Why ya' reckon they ain't brought yore vittles?"
GC:"Well, looky thar' (she points out the window). See that building? It collapsed into this
building an' shoved mah bed into the next room so the girl wif' mah breakfast tray never
found me."
While I'se both alarmed an' amused by Granny's report, the aide explained that Granny's bed had been moved while she wuz sleepin'--in an' out of the room, then back into the room. Somehow Granny, more aware that ya' might think, done wove all that bed movin' commotion into a whale of a tale.
I ain't tellin' y'all no tales. I is jes' sharin' the flittery stuff that I COULD weave into somethin' spectacular given a few glasses of moonshine, or a one more sleepless night, or another excruciatin' flight next to a groady fella in a muscle shirt wedged in the middle seat....
I'se got mah toes touchin' the line, lemme tell y'all.
Anyhoo, I'se invitin' y'all to have mercy on me--distract me as ya will, by takin' any of these flitters an' addin' yore own comment/ insight/ complaint/ howl.
What's wif' the Roosians?
1. Vlad Putin wanders around Roosian resorts sans chemise or in dive suits posing fer cameras --is this part of his campaign to increase Roosian birthrates, now that he figgered out his nation is dying? Creeeeeepy. (see photo up top--er, topless photo at heading)
2. Roosians is supplying designer baby embryos to ritzy socialites who contract wif' poor women to be the surrogate wombs in an upscale black-market ring whar' a blue-eyed, blond roosian embryos sell fer $180,000.
Technology
3. Who knew that ya' need a IRON KEY if ya doan want folks snoopin' into yore internet bidness. Or erasin'/ stealin' books off yore E-Reader?
4. HP ain't gonna make no more PCs.
Big Bro
5. Software is developin' that will allow Obamacare to match yore medical history against others in yore household census records back 30 years to track genetic probabilities of yore future health requirements.
6. "Our digital age demands a different form of attention." Our wired world is re-wiring the human brain? Or is it? Does good work truly come out of the hive setting?
Unexpected
7. Times is tough. Especially fer "content providers" 'cause the software or "delivery platform" controls the dissemination of content. What's a writer/ artist/ screenwriter/ to do? Thus, the weekend WSJ, p. B13 "Pulitzer Prize nominee writes meticulous CEO speeches." Ouch.
8. Georgetown University Hoyas (Basketball) were cuffed by a few Chinese players in a Beijing "Good will" exhibition game --mayhap the referees din't know the word "fair" since chinese boys had only 11 fouls to the Hoya 28 fouls...hmmnn.
I Never Knowed
9. Thar's a car named Pagani Zonda
1o. Why ever'body expects a list to have ten thangs? Afraid one of yore fingers will feel slighted?
P.S.
Uncle say since the Pork Rind Bidness is a leetle light these days, he's gonna become an' inventor. He done got his first idea already: The AirComfortCollar. Seen them plastic shields/ collars they put on dawgs to keep 'em from scratchin' they ears? Uncle say he's gonna make personal collapsible shields for use on flights--ya put one on to relieve ya' from havin' to see how disgustin' the passenger next to ya is--it defines yore personal airspace an' acts as a barrier from the direct blast of their halitosis an' expialidosis. Of course, iffin' they open a can of sardines youse jes' gonna have to go fer the oxygen masks.
