A terrible fate is creeping up on me. Periodically, First Selectman Cthulhu has to have his external parasites burned off by soaking in a lake-sized vat of boiling sulfuric acid. It’s uneventful but a very long process that requires someone to supervise. From next Monday until the Wednesday of the following week I will be in a form of purgatory. Isolated from the site and forced to endure almost unimaginable tedium I shall not be able to write my posts under my normal conditions. Whatever output I produce will be stilted, uninspired and generated in a state of exhaustion and mental duress. Come to think of it, you may not notice the difference at all. But undoubtedly, the word count will go way down. I should be able to load up the Pictures of the Day and the Quotes of the Day this weekend. But beyond that everything will be hit and miss.
Like some kind of latter-day Prometheus bound with cruel spikes driven through my immortal flesh into the adamantine stone beneath and with a cruel eagle constantly devouring my ever-regenerating liver, I will endure all this uncomplainingly knowing that I do it for the good of all mankind, or at least for the good of the MAGA Republicans. Maybe Trump can visit me on my mountain crag and speak words of encouragement and snide insults at the eagle. If he has the time.
If any of you have any content that you want posted feel free to e-mail it to me and I’ll make sure to publish it as a way to keep the readers happy. When the time of my internment is through, I shall return renewed and rededicated to the proposition that all internet links are created unequal. That they are endowed by their content creators with varying quality based on the qualities of these creators themselves and on how hard they are willing to work to make the content entertaining.
As the hours slowly pass during my captivity I’ll try to imagine what it will be like when President Kamala Harris is the commander in chief of this formerly great nation. I imagine how she will take the rostrum in the House of Representatives and give the State of the Union address and we’ll all applaud as she describes the glories of her electric yellow school bus bill. This bill will require the confiscation of all private, gasoline powered automobiles and mandate the use of buses for all travel. With a $40 trillion dollar price tag it will be the boldest and most expensive bill ever passed and it will certainly convert us into a banana republic in the image of Venezuela.
I was just listening to Trump at one of his rallies riffing on what a loser Kamala Harris is. It was funny. I guess I’ve missed his rally patter. It really is quite hilarious the way he describes her failure as “border czar” and her statements on defunding the police during the Summer of Floyd. And his equally harsh mockery of Biden is quite amusing. I think Trump is wise to highlight the fact that Kamala kept Joe Biden’s condition as a secret from the country. That is indeed a damning accusation against someone trying to gain the trust of the country while running for the office of president.
Today is the last day of July and I consider it the end of New England Summer. I’ve read that measurable snowfall has been recorded in every month of the year except for July in southern New England. If that is so then August is early winter. I have already begun preparing for it. I’ll begin prepping the snowblower and break out the snow shovels. I may wait a few weeks before wearing thermal underwear but it’s almost time. Turkey deep fried on the barbecue for Labor Day? We’ll see.
With two roasting hot and humid months yet to go before the high temps drop into the upper 80’s, I’d be on board for a little fall. The heat here is suffocating and we have the worst month yet to go.
Of course I’m being dramatic but today I heard the first cicadas and that is the harbinger of the end of summer. I know the Southerners scoff at my end of summer dirge but up here the days are already noticeably shorter. Realistically I’ll make the most of the nice weather and that will keep me going through the winter.
But I must grouse. It’s part of my act and it does suit my seasonal affective disorder.
But sympathies to those who have extreme heat in the summer. It’s no joke.