When the rough get going, I go home. Sometimes I wonder just how easy I am to forget. I miss kids from my third grade class. Oh, I'm not nostalgic. They're all the good old days.
The very idea that we're bossed around by men who threaten each other and us with atomic bombs amuses me in some perverse fashion. Man's arrogance has always fascinated me. This level of hubris changes everything. Has anyone shown these bozos photographs of themselves. Slapstick heaven would be watching Donald J. and Mr. Jong-un chase each other through the House of Mirrors.
In other news my dog has figured out that walking is a waste of time when you have a perfectly fine automobile at your disposal. Jamaica won't go for our regular walk until we go for a ride around the neighborhood. She wants the radio up loud. The air conditioner, too. She seems to like it best if Hank Williams or Wynonie Harris sing. Loud. She's not happy if I try to cut short the regular route.
Now my mom always prepared a meal for her little poodle that included green beans sautéed in a very particular fashion. I remember asking her impatiently just exactly how Honey had ever figured out how she liked her beans prepared.
This has been a lesson in karma.
Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.