Friday, February 24, 2017

Being

While returning from delivering the trash to the end of the lane I realized I had a problem with the word "Resist" and I realized that I was no longer just a common or garden old fart, I was a died in the wool old fart. The two things happened at almost exactly the same time, kind of like dominoes falling. By the time I had come to the end of a morning's digging, I'd already made speeches that would have sat well with someone like Attila or Nigel Tebbit or Winston Churchill or whoever that guy is from Texas who has the manners of a reptile, he was one of the several hundred GOP Presidential hopefuls.

Fortunately, while lying down resting the back, and I have to say I was feeling particularly saintly given the yards of turned earth I'd managed to achieve with just a very few cigarette breaks, it occurred to me that I'd spent a lifetime resisting one thing or another. Not talking jail time or any of that kind of heroic stuff, it's been more like sneering at people with rototillers weed-eaters, off road vehicles, shiny four wheel drive pick up trucks and careers around which all things including honesty have to be sacrificed. But with just a few years left on the coil of existence, why stop resisting now even if it does mean leaving home?


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