Just a short message from our sponsor

Just a brief update to my promise to have the pieces that I’ve been working on posted in a few days: I’m going to have to back out of that promise for a least a few extra days, at the very least. Even as I write this, there is a crew of illegal Mexicans cutting down a huge pine tree in my front yard. I realize that I shouldn’t patronize businesses that hire illegals, but the tree has to come down before it falls over of its own accord and completely demolishes my garage. That is the bad side; the worst side is that I’ve had to listen to chainsaws since 8:30 this morning and there doesn’t seem to be any end to the noise in sight or within earshot, which seems to make more sense to me than saying in sight; I don’t care what the chainsaws looks like, I just don’t want to listen to them.  As you might imagine, one of the unfortunate side effects of prolonged exposure to the sound of illegal immigrants hacking up a tree with a chainsaw is a prolonged inability to concentrate on the task at hand, and therefore I am putting off the completion of these two pieces until peace and quiet once again reign here in our happy little burg. But I will get them out eventually, I promise you that. Again, my apologies for the delay.

Apologies

I would like to apologize for the singular lack of new material here at The Passing Parade. For reasons I am not certain I fully comprehend myself, I volunteered, or at least people tell me I volunteered—frankly, the idea that I knowingly volunteered for anything doesn’t really sound like me, but you can’t go around calling people liars; they tend to object to that sort of thing, you know—to serve on the search committee to find a new chief executive for the egregious mold pit wherein I labor for my daily bread.  I am sure none of you cares in the least about the labyrinthine pit of civil service hell I have been sliding greasily through for the past several months, but let us say for the moment—I cannot go into the details before the official announcement by them that runs this place—that the long delay is over and that I can go back to the two pieces that have been hanging fire ever since I volunteered, if I actually did volunteer—I’m not kidding, I have no memory of telling the big shots here that I wanted to serve of their damn committee, but there I was, anyway—and finish them just as soon as I can.  Just when they will up, I cannot say, but I anticipate them being here sometime in the next few days, unless something else comes up that requires my immediate attention. I can’t think of anything that might actually meet that criterion, but I’ve noticed that things that meet that criterion have a bad habit of showing up when you least want them to, in much the same way as your Uncle Harry and Aunt Nancy show up on a weekend when you’ve got other plans and you just want them to go away and stay away, or better yet, not show up at all. We can’t have everything, however, and sometimes we just have to put up with what we cannot get rid of, especially now that the antifreeze companies have put some agent in the antifreeze that makes the stuff taste bitter and therefore poisoning Aunt Nancy and Uncle Harry is no longer a viable way to protect one’s weekend plans. Ah well, what can we do?

Today I wrote nothing

Yes, today I wrote nothing. Well, no, that is not entirely true; I did write that I wrote nothing, but that still counts as nothing, even if it is something. In this the nothing I wrote is similar to the baloneyfish sandwich, which is not good for your teeth, what with all the carbolic acid in the bread. You should avoid the bread in a baloneyfish sandwich, if you can. Smerdyakov did not and he wound up dead, as did Wild Bill Hickock. Baloneyfish does not always agree with everyone who tries it, and why should it, really? This is a free country and if the baloneyfish does not want to agree with anyone there should be no great need to compel the baloneyfish to agree. This is the great difference between this our Great Republic and other countries. In those countries, the benighted aardvarks must wait for the Ferris wheel to arrive before they can eat their bananas. Smerdyakov did not wait for the Ferris wheel to arrive before he ate his banana and Wild Bill Hickock shot him, unless it wasn't Wild Bill Hicock; it could have been Jesse James. But Smerdyakov is still dead, no matter who shot him, No one knows what happened to his banana.

Something is in the works...

Really, I am not kidding. It will be up soon. I promise. And there will be no pictures of las desnudas involved.