Use of the word ‘darkies’ in this post is completely unacceptable, but then again so is having to report accurately on the activities of fucking racists.
Watched Our Souls at Night with Paul yesterday; it was most agreeable to see it with him as I’ve thought of him as the perfect target market for the movie since Jeff and I first viewed it. Side note. It is qwhite noticeably populated by the pale people.
Upsun manuscript is complete and will be ready for publication shortly. I get a little thrill when I see the cover. Some things get to be perfect; for everything else there’s good enough. In this case Mike’s picture is perfect, and I’m only sorry I had to put the name and title on it, kicking it down to good enough.
Shared the mOm beating down a rat tale on twitter today. It is a tale which has grown in the telling and may be significantly less accurate in its details than it could be. I encourage the parental units to consider the matter and make their changes as they will.
I posted the story after a racist said there were rats in Paris because of darkies (I compress his feces, I mean thesis, but raaaallly not by much) to which one of my fave white anti-racists on twitter said that Paris has had a well known rat problem for a fucking millennium now and flooding is the cause of the irruption, not darkies (comments passim). I have to include this explanation or the last two lines won’t make sense.
Ha ha! story time from Grandma.
. When my fOlks moved to a small town on the Bay of Fundy in Nova Scotia (they did not wish to live on the air force base at Greenwood) they could not understand why every single household in town had about a dozen skeevy, semi-feral cats. /2
Then came the high spring tide. The wharf rats, evicted from their normal home, went from house to house seeking shelter; each place they smelled cats, and so they kept going until they ended up at the clapboard cottage where I, a mite of six months, lay in my bassinet. /3
Picture my mother’s atavistic fury as a fully grown wharf rat approaches her young! GRABS A BROOM, WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK until my father says, quietly, with his eyes bugging out, “You can stop. It is dead now.” The rat looked like a blood’n’fur pizza. /4
pOp shot rats *in the house* with a .22 pistol. Next day they grabbed a cat from every single house in the village.
. 1. No immigrants were harmed in the telling of this story. <—lol
. 2. The rats didn’t make it. Sorry.