Category: Life in Dunwich

My Adventures in the Mythical New England Town of Dunwich

The Tale of the Two Jakes

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So, after yesterday’s doom and gloom post I was glad that today we were out of the house for something a lot less depressing.  We were picking up Princess Sack of Potatoes for a sleep over.  And before coming home we watched her team’s weekly soccer game.  Now any parent knows that five- and six-year-olds playing soccer consists mostly of a scrum of eight or ten kids in a circle kicking the ball back and forth at each other’s shin guards.  Luckily at this stage of my career as a soccer spectator all I’m looking for is a lack of drama from the parents and at least one goal for “our side.”

And the soccer gods were smiling down on us today and “our side” got most of the goals.  But more accurately the Two Jakes got almost all the goals.  And it was something of a doppelganger experience.  Each team had a little boy named Jake.  And each Jake was probably about four feet tall with closely cropped dirty blond hair, the number “4” on his jersey and a monomaniacal drive to get the ball in the goal.  These two boys were the only players on the field who knew how to dribble the soccer ball and this allowed them to dominate the ball until faced by a wall of opponents.

Luckily for our side, their coach had drilled them all to run for the goal if the other team got the ball and this allowed us to effectively limit their Jake to two goals.  Unfortunately for the other team, their coach hadn’t equipped them with this strategy so our Jake had the opportunity to score about a half dozen goals.

Other than the coincidences of name, number and appearance there is nothing unusual about two teams at this age only having one competent striker.  But the reason I mention this situation has to do the with the boys’ fathers.  Because they were both cheering on their sons with the same name, they caught each other’s attention and began a conversation that I could overhear.

And it was a pleasant surprise to hear them both comparing notes on their sons’ drive to score goals.  Both of them complimented the other on their son’s skills and both seemed to disclaim having anything to do with it.  You could tell they were both a little proud but neither was at all wound up while watching the game and there wasn’t any of the embarrassing sidelines haranguing that is so awful to see at these games.  There was plenty of applause and cheering when goals were scored (or missed) but both of them behaved as adults watching very young children play a game.  Compared to the behavior of so many parents at these events, it was a breath of fresh air.

And that provided me with just enough hope for humanity to shake off the grim shadow of life in Joe Biden’s America for today.  When we got home, I spent a little time talking about the game with my granddaughter and discovered that for her the most important things about the game were that they had scored at least one goal and that they got to buy something from the ice cream truck.  And in retrospect her priorities seem about right.

But it was nice to see two grown men behaving like grown men.  Maybe that leads to two more grown men a generation from now.

Eureka

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After yesterday’s epic whine about the vicissitudes of home ownership I looked around for some kind of salve for my male ego.  And fate or something provided me with the opportunity to redeem myself.  A clogged bathtub drain.  For the last few weeks, the drain in our tub has been getting slower and slower.  Lately I’ve left the plunger near the tub and after every shower I played a game of trying to get it to break loose.  All I achieved was to dredge up a goodly amount of black flakes that were some kind of fossilized soap scum.  And all that achieved was to waste ten or fifteen minutes while I cleaned up the tub of this disgusting residue.

But today I had had enough.  I gathered my equipment:

  • Screwdrivers … check
  • Needle nose pliers … check
  • Accordion Toilet Plunger with Large Bellows for Extra Powerful Plunge, Black … check
  • Snake auger … check
  • Electric drill … check
  • Safety glasses … check
  • Disposable rubber gloves … check

All that was left was to let Camera Girl see that I was preparing for battle and even though I would be expending tens of thousands of dollars to have someone competent repair my home, at least I was capable of saving the cost of a plumber to get my bathtub back in good operating condition.

I solemnly explained to her how I would be removing the plunger from the trip-lever stopper to properly auger the drain line.  I don’t think it would be possible for me to overstate the intensity of contempt her look communicated to me.  Well, that’s the problem with women.  They don’t understand or appreciate technical genius.

So, I removed the drain filter and tried pulling out hair with the pliers.  Nada.  Then just for old time’s sake I put six inches of water in the tub and tried the “Accordion Toilet Plunger with Large Bellows for Extra Powerful Plunge, Black.”  I pushed down on the stupid thing once and the tub drained in seconds.  And of course, Camera Girl walked in just as it emptied and gave me the same look.  She picked up the plunger and asked, “How much did you pay for this?”  I said, “ten bucks.”  “And this?” (pointing at the auger).  “Sixty dollars.”  She shook her head and walked away.  Women don’t understand about contingency planning.  Very short-sighted.

Well, as pathetic as my victory was, it has transformed my attitude.  We’re definitely on the upswing.  And after she took a shower, she readily admitted that a working bathtub drain is not a commodity to look down your nose at.  And there’s no telling what I might do next.

Who knows, maybe I’ll tell my builder to stop all work, figure what I owe him so far and take over the job myself.  I mean how long could it take me to shovel ten thousand pounds of gravel?  And how hard can it be to jack up a building off its foundation?  And who needs a truck to pour concrete anyway?  What was it Archimedes said?  “Give me a place to stand and a lever long enough and I’ll move the Earth.”  Well, some of my ancestors came from Sicily.  Maybe I’m related to Archimedes (at least by marriage!).  Well, baby steps.  I think I’ll shock Camera Girl and brew my own pot of coffee.  How hard could it be?

A Sense of Wonder

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My recent foray into Dunwichian power politics may have struck some of my readers as morose and unnecessarily pessimistic.  Possibly so, but I was trying to capture the essence of our current reality where an honest and transparent analysis of how our society works reveals enormous hypocrisy.  And the nature of our “democracy” reveals itself to be a process manipulated by the powerful who have no regard for the people.  But just to show you I haven’t despaired of life I was reminded today of what good can be achieved by getting involved with the young.

I remembered as a youngster being intrigued by astronomy.  Maybe it was because of the space program that was getting off the ground about the time I became aware of current events.  Maybe it was because my parents gave me access to books and other resources concerning science.  But however it happened, I was fascinated by the details of the solar system.  I was always reading statistics about the size, location and physical attributes of Saturn and Jupiter, Mercury and Mars.  And once I began reading science fiction, I became all the more absorbed by this extension of my world into the solar system.  And I suppose that my early interest in science is responsible for much of my orientation in school and afterwards.  Engineering was the logical conclusion for someone interested in the practical application of science to life.  I suppose that if NASA’s space program hadn’t petered out after the moon landings, I would have tried to get involved in an engineering program that had the potential of involving space travel but that was just a childhood fantasy.

But remembering how exciting and interesting it was to discover the larger universe, I decided to give Princess Sack of Potatoes her first astronomy lesson.  We looked at photos of the planets and I tried to explain some of the physical characteristics of the various worlds that circle our sun.  Mercury and Venus are too close to the Sun and therefore too hot.  Mars is too small and too far from the Sun and therefore lacking a useful atmosphere and too cold.  And I tried to explain why the gas giant worlds weren’t places where terrestrial life could exist because of their nightmarish temperatures and pressures and poisonous atmospheres.

So was my lesson successful.  I don’t really know.  She seemed interested enough and she enjoyed the colorful photos and pictures of the planets.  But will it inspire a deep curiosity about the universe.  Well, it’s much too soon to tell.  Maybe after we begin to discuss interstellar and intergalactic space I’ll see if she becomes bored with the subject.  But there was definitely one moment of planetary solidarity.  When we had finished with Neptune, she wanted to know what had happened to Pluto.  Full disclosure, I was very angry when the international astronomical societies stripped Pluto of its status as a planet.  I felt it to be an arbitrary and probably anti-American gesture.  So, this sympathy for Pluto by my granddaughter was a very welcome occurrence.  When I found out that this emotion was fostered because the planet has the same name as Mickey Mouse’s dog, I was a little less enthusiastic.  But still, when dealing with small children you take your victories where they come.

So, teaching children and inspiring curiosity about the wonders of science is something that we can do even in the world of Joe Biden and the American Security State.  One small step for a grandfather, one giant leap for mankind.

Debate in Dunwich – Part 4

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BISHOP – Welcome to the third and final 2024 Debate between the candidates running for the office of Dunwich First Selectman.  I’m head moderator Uriah Bishop and tonight we’re here with Great Old One Hastur and unfortunately none of his opponents was willing to show up for this last debate.  Probably this is because he cooked and ate his last opponent, Azathoth at the conclusion of the debate.

HASTUR – Oh boo-hoo.  The big mean monster ate one of the other big mean monsters.  Grow up little pastry.  That is my world.  And that is your world too.  Look around you and observe how things really work.  The big fish eats the little fish.  Or bird or cat or man or monster.  Everything else is just make believe.  The strong survive and the weak go to the wall.

BISHOP – Then what is the point of the weak even trying?

HASTUR – The point is you want to breath that sweet air and feel your blood pulse through your veins for the next minute and the minute after that.  You’ll do whatever you can to keep alive.  And because the strong aren’t all that strong.  If you want something bad enough and work hard enough you can survive.  But just remember not to believe the hype.  Remember who you are dealing with.  Me.

BISHOP – And how are you going to run the show?

HASTUR – I intend to simplify things.  I’m gonna get rid of all the make believe.  I’m strong enough not to need the divide and conquer stuff.  I’ll deal with all of you insects at once.  You’ll all get the same deal from me.  You do what I say and the game goes on.  You get to keep your little lives and hoard your crumbs.  But rock the boat and you’ll get my undivided attention.  Now that’s pretty fair.  You might almost call me a humanitarian.  I love all the little people.  Especially with tabasco sauce.  So don’t rock the boat.

BISHOP – Well folks you heard it here first.  Great Old One Hastur has laid out his agenda for his term as First Selectman of Dunwich.  And in retrospect it is surprisingly close to the policy that dearly departed First Selectman Cthulhu followed.  He tended to eat anyone who forced him to break his routine or questioned his orders.  I’m sure we all will adapt easily to this new management.  Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.

HASTUR – Sure.  When you think about it, it’s a better deal than you’re getting from Washington.  At least I don’t insist that you pretend to like being eaten alive.  Honest tyranny is preferable to fake democracy.  You don’t have to love Big Brother just stay out of Caesar’s way and live to pull a galley slave’s oar another day.  Besides you can dream about a revolt and how you’ll slit the throats of all the masters one day.  Doesn’t that sound like fun?

BISHOP – Yes, your excellency.  What could be better than that.

HASTUR – That’s the spirit Bishop.  You know I’m starting to like you.  How would you like to be my emissary to the humans.  It doesn’t pay much but if you follow orders, I’ll probably eat you last!

BISHOP – That’s an offer no one could refuse.

HASTUR – Literally.

Debate in Dunwich – Part 3

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BISHOP – Welcome to the second 2024 Debate between the candidates running for the office of Dunwich First Selectman.  I’m head moderator Uriah Bishop and I would introduce my four fellow moderators but they were eaten by candidate Hastur during the first debate.  Well, one wasn’t eaten but he started running as soon as the debate ended and by now, he must be somewhere over the Canadian border.  I will be running the debate but we have suspended all rules associated with the candidates’ actions out of naked fear of being ingested.  So, we expect a lively but chaotic night.

Tonight, our candidates are Hastur and Azathoth also known as the “Blind Idiot God,” but in a positive and non-judgmental way.  Seeing as Hastur scares me worst I will open up the debate by turning over the microphone to him.

HASTUR – Very good human, you managed to avoid immediate death.  Keep up the good work.  Well, Azathoth I see you’ve managed to scrape the cosmic barnacles off your face and show up for this debate.  What do you have to say for yourself?

AZATHOTH – Hey, watch that kind of talk.  Why in my day young whippersnappers knew enough to only speak when they were spoken to.  If you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head, I’ll take you out behind the Crab Nebula and teach you some manners, by gum.

HASTUR – Calm down sleepy Joe.  They don’t call you the Blind Idiot God for nothing.  If we squared off, you’d be lucky not to poke your own eye out with one of your claws.  Now let’s cut to the chase and tell the audience of puny humans what we each hope to achieve as “First Selectman.”  For instance, I hope to ban humans from adding artificial sweeteners to their foods and drinks.  All of these additives build up in human cells and always give me a headache if I have more than two or three humans at a meal.  Especially the female humans with their attempts to lose weight to attract a man.

AZATHOTH – Hey, what do you mean by stereotyping women that way?  That’s obviously sexist and it’s fat-shaming too.  What are you?  Some kind of agent of the patriarchy.  Why I oughta haul off and belt you one, you dog-faced pony soldier, you!  And why do you assume a woman is trying to attract a man.  Are you trying to deny the existence of the LGBTQ?

HASTUR – Okay that’s enough.

(Hastur closes with Azathoth and proceeds to dismember him.  First, he snaps off his lobster-like claws and then all of his remaining limbs.)

AZATHOTH – Ahhhhh!  Ahhhh!  You can’t do that to me.  I’m the supreme deity of the Cthulhu Mythos.

HASTUR – Yeah, yeah, yeah.  But you also taste really good baked with some dipping butter on the side.  So, everyone is invited to join me on the beach tonight for a good old seafood bake.  Bring your own bibs and I’ll provide the sides and beer.

BISHOP – Well, there you have it folks.  Hastur has taken to our New England customs and cuisine surprisingly quickly for an invading intergalactic demigod from another dimension.  And I for one applaud his generosity in hosting this party.  But I will not be attending.  There was no talk of what the side dishes would be and I don’t wish to tempt fate by ending up as one of them.  So, until the next debate this is Uriah Bishop wishing you a good night and nightmare free dreams.

Debate in Dunwich – Part 2

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BISHOP – Welcome to the first 2024 Debate between the candidates running for the office of Dunwich First Selectman.  I’m head moderator Uriah Bishop and along with my four fellow moderators I will be running the debate and handling the time clock and microphones.  We randomly selected the two contestants for tonight’s debate.  They are two of the former First Selectman’s closest relatives; his daughter Cthylla and his half-brother Hastur.

Before we get started I will just explain the rules of the debate.  Each candidate will be given two minutes to answer a question.  If the candidate exceeds that time he will have his microphone shut off and will be penalized a minute for the first offense and two minutes for his second offense.  On the third offense he will lose all right to answer questions.

(At this point Hastur moved toward the moderators’ dais and ate one of the officials.)

HASTUR – Now I will explain my rules.  Every time you say something annoying, I will eat some of you.  First offense I will eat one of you, as I just did.  Second offense two of you.  On the third offense I’ll eat all the rest of the moderators and probably most of the spectators.

BISHOP – Those are very convincing rules.  Can I start the questioning?

HASTUR – Certainly, my little dumpling.

BISHOP – Thank you your titanic excellency.  Cthylla, if you are elected First Selectman, what will be your first official act?

CTHYLLA – That’s easy.  I will change the job title to First Select Person!  We’re in the twentieth century here and this patriarchal sexism will be laid to rest!  And after that I intend to change the pronunciation of Dunwich so that you can hear the w.  I will enact a law that anyone pronouncing it “Dunitch” will be fined a hundred dollars.  Oh, and I intend to make rooftop solar panels and electric cars mandatory.  And …

HASTUR – Alright, that’s enough.  Listen you empty-headed boob.  Why should a Great Old One care what humans name their bureaucrats?  Or how they pronounce their absurd place names.  Basically, they’re cattle for us to herd and then devour.  And as for this stupid “election,” I’m doing this for fun.  If these insignificant maggots vote for anyone but me, I’ll flatten half of Dunwich as an object lesson and start eating a dozen of them daily until they come to me, en masse, and beg me to be their “First Selectman.”

CTHYLLA – Hastur, you can’t talk to me that way.  In the words of my favorite philosopher, my future as the leader of Dunwich is unburdened by what has been.

BOTH FEMALE MODERATOR – You go girl!

(Hastur, once again, ambles over to the Moderators’ dais and eats both female moderators.)

HASTUR – That’s two strikes.

BISHOP – Well, I think this concludes the question period of this debate.  I think we’ll proceed to closing arguments and I will ask Hastur to go first.

HASTUR – Cthylla you are a brainless nincompoop.  How my brother ever spawned anything as vacuous as you is inexplicable.  I recommend you spend your time trying to memorize which are your right and left legs and leave running the known universe to beings with the ruthlessness and intelligence needed to succeed.  If you are any indication of what the next generation of Great Old Ones is like then I shudder to think how we will conquer the giant Martian Beetle Men a billion years from now after I retire to R’lyeh.

BISHOP – Well, I think we should end here.  Although both candidates have spoken passionately, I think it’s fair to say that Hastur has driven home his argument, uh, viscerally.  And for that reason he will advance to the next debate when his opponent will be the Azathoth or as he is sometimes known the “Blind Idiot God.”

HASTUR – I like to call him “Sleepy Joe.”

BISHOP – Well said, well said.  Unfortunately, I will not be moderating at that debate due to a schedule conflict that is unavoidable.

HASTUR – You better avoid it or you’ll have an appointment with my alimentary canal.

BISHOP – I’ve just remembered a cancellation.  I’ll be there of course.

Debate in Dunwich – Part 1

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With the death of First Selectman Cthulhu a power vacuum has formed.  But not a metaphorical one.  The disappearance of Cthulhu has caused an actual rip in the fabric of space-time and various Great Old Ones and their allies and servants have been sucked into our space-time and hurled down to Dunwich.

Sighted so far are:

  • Hastur; the polypous, ravenous floating mass endowed with tentacles, drills, and suckers, or more frequently, as the King in Yellow, a humanoid being wearing tattered, yellow clothes and a mask hiding the face. He is said to be Cthulhu’s (half-)brother.
  • Idh-yaa; A gigantic, pale, worm-like horror dwelling beneath the crust of the star Xoth. She has been Cthulhu’s first bride, and with him spawned three sons—Ghatanothoa, Ythogtha, and Zoth-Ommog—and a younger daughter, Cthylla.
  • Yog-Sothoth; The “All-in-One and One-in-All”, co-rules with Azathoth and exists as the incarnation of time in the cosmos, yet is somehow locked outside the mundane universe.
  • Shub-Niggurath; The “Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young”
  • Nyarlathotep; The “Crawling Chaos”, is the avatar of the Outer Gods, existing as the incarnation of space and functions as an intermediary between the deities of the pantheon and their cults.
  • Azathoth; Sometimes referred to as the “Blind Idiot God”, is a dreaming monster who rules the Outer Gods, created them (along with many other worlds) and thus effectively serves as the supreme deity of the Cthulhu Mythos.

With these Great Old Ones wishing to succeed Cthulhu as the leader of storied Dunwich, these demonic beings have each filled out the necessary paperwork and paid the fees to be placed on the November ballot for the office of First Selectman of Dunwich.  The Town Clerk has posted the ballot in the Dunwich Complainer and a series of debates will take place.  But not in the Town Hall as is typical but rather in an open field on Sentinel Hill where the larger Great Old Ones can more easily fit.

Due to the short window for campaigning there was not sufficient time for any of the candidates to obtain the endorsement of either of the two major parties but since the Democrats are rightly considered the sowers of chaos, any monstrous entity would more or less qualify as a Democrat candidate.

When contacted by the Complainer, only Hastur made himself available for comment.  The polypous, ravenous floating mass endowed with tentacles morphed into his King in Yellow, humanoid wearing tattered, yellow clothes and mask hiding his face form.  But before speaking he morphed into a very Trump-like monster.  He was quoted as saying, “These debates will be the greatest debates and all these other Great Old Ones will be shown to be not very great.  In fact, except for me they will all be terrible.  They will all be like Sleepy Joe Biden; very confused and very stupid.  Especially Azathoth who really is the “Blind Idiot God.”  But he’s not really blind.  He’s just pretending to be blind for the sympathy.  Very sad.  By the end of the debate all of them will drop out and I will be first Selectman.  This I guarantee.”

We at the Dunwich Complainer will follow this race diligently and will shamelessly favor whichever candidate pays us the most advertising revenue.  Stay tuned for this titanic struggle.  Winner take Dunwich.

And with Strange Aeons Even Death May Die

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“Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.

In his house at R’lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.”

 

“That is not dead which can eternal lie,

And with strange aeons even death may die.”

 

After yesterday’s post I received several communications from readers outraged at the manner in which such a venerable and iconic entity as the First Selectman could be allowed to leave this continuum.  Many simply refused to believe the facts such as they are and hang onto hope that Cthulhu lives.  As the quotes above attest there is a tradition that Cthulhu can remain inert for literally billions of years and still reanimate and wreak a terrible vengeance on mankind when the stars align just right (or just wrong).

Well, I will not speculate at this point on the Great Old One’s chances of resuscitation.  As Hamlet very cleverly noted, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”  And if we add to heaven and earth the depths of hell, then we begin to list the span of infinities where knowledge of the First Selectman can be hiding.  And since I already miss the old villain a little bit, I’ll keep an open mind as to his chances of reintegration.  Let’s leave it there for now.

I have finally completed the herculean task to which I was yoked.  My spirit, such as it is, has rebounded measurably and I look around me to see the state of life in the here and now.  I note the same stale prattle about polls and bickering with the names Trump, Harris, Vance and Walz attached.  Frankly all of this is too tedious to even consider.  Let all of that stew for a while.

The summer wanes and school children are already frozen with existential dread at the approach of Labor Day.  But, this time of year is not without its charms.  I was forced to rise hideously early Tuesday morning and so I was out and about before 4:00 am when I happened to look up at the sky and was struck by the brightness of the stars and planets and their inspiring beauty.  If I had not been on an unavoidable mission, I might have stood there for a quarter hour and marveled at this arresting vision.  At that moment I was reminded of this aspect of reality and how these incomprehensible phenomena we call stars can be both the source of our lives and these beautiful beacons that light up the night sky that we so rarely bother to view.  So out of the most tedious and soul-crushing activities it is possible to experience a moment of primal joy and wonder.

But now I’ll spend a day or two catching up with my various duties.  Bear with me as I take up again the reins of my daily routine and restore order to my life.  I must write and trim some posts and schedule them and I must read up on any “news” I might have missed and try to draw inspiration from my surroundings and the important things that need to be said and done.

So good morning!

The Death of a Great Old One

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Farmer Cthulhu in His Fields

All of Dunwich is in shock and mourning.  Today at three ‘clock in the morning it was discovered that First Selectman Cthulhu was no more.  Apparently, it was a self-inflicted accident.  This was the final night and day of his de-lousing treatment and over the ten day he had enjoyed the effects of the boiling sulfuric acid bath so much that some time after midnight he cranked the thermostat on the heater to maximum.  But something went wrong and the bath was turned into an electrolytic cell and Cthulhu was completely dissolved into the solution with only some siliceous fragments left on the bottom of the tank.

The First Selectman’s personal physician; Dr. Fraudulent Practices declared him dead and assured the grieving throng of well-wishers that Cthulhu’s last moments were painless and in fact probably completely unconscious.  Strangely this crowd demonstrated their grief by dancing in circles and uttering what almost sounded like, “Ding-dong Cthulhu’s dead, brush your teeth get out of bed, ding-dong the lousy squid is dead,” to the tune of that song from the “Wizard of Oz” that the Munchkins sing.  Well, different people process grief in different ways.  Possibly these people were just overcome by horrible sorrow and didn’t know what they were saying.  Although they were doing it in three-part harmonies.  Very strange.

Suffice it to say that Dunwich is plunged into solemn mourning and all official activities have been postponed in anticipation of the funeral.  It is rumored that both Joe Biden and Kamala Harris intend to speak at the funeral.  It is believed that Biden will use the occasion to break out his “My Uncle Bosie was eaten by cannibals” story.  And this may cause some controversy because several of the invited guests are themselves cannibals and may take offense.

But the real worry for the funeral is any comments by Kamala.  It is open knowledge that she had a longstanding romantic affair with the First Selectman and if she chooses to speak at the ceremony there is speculation that Mrs. Cthulhu will take umbrage and may possibly eat her.  In and of itself this situation may not seem so dire.  But it would be a shame if Harris’s secret service team got between the two “women” and were themselves swallowed too.  But all things considered it might be a better fate for them than spending every day walking around and listening to stories about yellow school buses from Kamala Harris.

Personally, I cannot yet speak to my feelings about Cthulhu’s death.  It’s too soon.  The amalgam of fond familiarity and cosmic horror is a hard to explain emotion.  You never can be sure whether the appropriate response is a rye chuckle or a panic-stricken sprint for the exit.  Too soon, too soon.

Every citizen of Dunwich will receive a jar containing one liter of the electrolyzed remains of Cthulhu to be treasured and displayed in a place of honor in each home.  The jar will have the First Selectman’s famous motto, “Shut up and second my motion or I will swallow you whole and digest you in my second stomach.”  Words to live by!

The bottle will be made of tantalum to prevent any possibility of breakage or leakage.  The EPA has rated the First Selectman’s remains as a potent compound with a lethal dose estimated in the picogram range.  I have elected to have my share donated to Nancy Pelosi.  I’ll tell her it’s Botox.

Wednesday’s Child Is Full of Woe

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The horror continues unabated.  Thursday will be a respite, and I will use that day to try to reestablish my sanity (whatever that might be).  We have corroded away the first inch of the First Selectman’s outer scale layer.  This will allow the boiling sulfuric acid to percolate through and diffuse into his circulatory system and act as a revivifying tonic.  This is an especially dangerous part of the procedure.  The effect of the tonic is to pique his appetite.  In years past we have lost several members of the de-lousing team at this point in the procedure.

Of course, he’s always very sorry afterward and apologizes profusely to the surviving members of the crew and speaks very appreciatively of the dearly departed and of all their good qualities; their diligence, their team spirit, their crunchiness and full-bodied flavor.  He never stints on praise.

Because of this unfortunate tendency during this part of the procedure I find myself unconsciously moving toward the First Selectman’s left side.  It’s a little-known fact that he’s blind in that eye and so less likely to reflexively snap his jaws and swallow someone standing near that side of his head.

In the big, beautiful world outside of Dunwich all sorts of unimportant things are going on.  The Olympics grinds on with no detectable interest by most of the population.  Kamala and her new running mate are making the rounds of the friendly news shows and touting their wonderfulness.  But I don’t know.  This guy seems to have a bunch of skeletons rattling around in his closet.  Did he refuse to serve in Iraq?  Did he normalize pedophilia.  This guy may be a disaster waiting to happen.  Well it couldn’t happen to a nicer gal than Kamala!

The Ukrainians have opened up a new front in their war by invading Russia on the northern front to the west of the Kharkiv area.  And some of their new F-16s have been spotted flying in the western Ukrainian skies.  There looks to be a major event in Ukraine very soon.

During a particularly slow point in the work, I was talking to a co-worker and he was talking about raising a family in the early 1980s.  A lot of what he said rang true for me too.  There were major financial problems like the very high mortgage rates but people went ahead with their lives taking risks and betting on their luck.  That’s how I remember it too.  The first time I got laid off with a mortgage to cover it was pretty scary.  But if you looked around, something would turn up even if it was only contract work.  The difference between then and now is there is a culture that discourages optimism.  Nothing can be done and nothing is anyone’s fault.  The default assumption is that it’s society’s fault and it’s not worth trying.

This attitude is a death sentence.  The world is the same as it ever was.  Effort and extending your reach beyond the minimum are rewarded.  Regardless of recessions and inflation, striving for what you want isn’t an extraordinary idea.  It’s the normal circumstance for Americans.  This has always been the land of opportunity because it’s the land of hard work that rewards the achiever.  So let the young ones you talk to know this.  Struggle and survive is the order of the day.  And they come from ancestors that did just that.

Now back to the vat.  By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.  Oh well.