FUCK YOU.

The Fair is Here

Today the Fair starts.

There will be lots of kids in their skinny jeans and baby doll tops, aching to look cool.

Young boys will hide behind the Swine Barn stuffing Red Man into their cheeks.

Butter will be used in some very profane ways deep in the annals of the Dairy Building.

Every other "couple" you see will be the most unlikely couple of all time. Young with old. Short with tall. Red with green. Most will have thier hands in each others back jeans pocket.

Ye Olde Mill will continue to smell like it.

I like to look at the Blow Hard Talk Radio Stars sweating in their booths. Paper tigers they all are...looking sheepish like they have been revealed for the petty sluggos they truly are. Sweat Joe Soucheray you Fucking Doucheray.

The DFL Building will continue to operate like clusterfuck central. Many soldiers and no kings. The Repigs will goose step and preen, smelling of Aqua Velva and the great smell of Brut. Perhaps rather than a Kissing Booth they could have a Bitch Slap booth this year. Alan Fine and Mark Olson would be first in line, their lovely wives the first to volunteer.

A break from the bridge collapse aftermath talk? No MN/DOT Booth this year. Yes I know they pulled out early. They did a lot of things early. Early damage control. Pin the tail on the bureaucrat is not what I crave. Carol Molnau should resign, or at least be placed in a heifer pen to be judged by her peers. Then paraded around, on a stick.

Typical of Governor Polenta to let someone else take the fall for his own evil doings. He gets more and more like President Chimp every day. EEP! EEP!

Well at least we can all listen to

JOHNNY APPLESEED

The best song of all time. (At the moment.)

Lent

We live in cynical times.

Politicians lie.

Their supporters lie.

The Media lies.

Parents lie to their children.

Children lie to their friends.

There's a fly in my office right now that is bugging the shit out of me. I have tried to swat it but it eludes me.

I realize that killing it is not the "answer" and that when/if I do I will feel a slight pang of guilt. After all. how can I be sure that it is not my dead grandmother reincarnated, coming back for a visit?

I remember once when staying with Ga Ga I discovered there was fly living in her refrigerator.

When I asked her about it she said:

"Shut the door! I am trying to keep him alive all through Lent."

It was a simpler time.

I remember that summer, sitting on her couch, watching the ever present T. V.. Bob Dole was speaking at the Republican National Convention.

"Look at him," she said. "With that crooked arm of his. THAT is a crooked man! He's crooked like that because...he is a liar and a crook! He's a Nixon man!"

She smiled at me.

WWWWHHHHAAAPPP! DEAD!!!! I GOT THE LITTLE BASTARD!

Wow, I don't feel bad at all.

(Sorry, Ga Ga.)

It's Raining Angst

Hallelujah!