Short Game 7
If I weren’t too old to learn new tricks, and if I weren’t vaguely hostile to texting, I’d say OMG and LOL. Thanks for your birthday comments to Sis; this was a major surprise to both of us. Awesome niece, yes? For those of you with blogs, I’m visiting you all. It’ll take a while, but I’m enjoying the trip.
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This weekend, sand sculptors landed on the beach. This is a craft that confuses me — well, I guess it’s my reaction that confuses me. Most of us hope for more permanence in the things we create. On the other hand, what a waste it would be if someone actually sculpted a clown car from Carrara marble. The temporary nature of these sculptures strikes me as sad … but the wisdom shown by these craftsmen that their “art” is for today and not for the ages, well, that makes me want to thank them. We can consider that strange pile of women. But we won’t have to consider it for long.
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Dog Talk
Cassie: So what do you want to do?
Charlie: I don’t know. What do you want to do?
Cassie: We could eat worms.
Charlie: Great idea! Where will we find them?
Cassie: Well, we could dig up their coral bark maple that is lovely and fragile and recently planted in a pile of aged horse shit.
Charlie: Horse shit! I love horse shit!
Later that day
Charlie: You think they’ll be mad about this?
Cassie: Just a minute — I have a mouthful of roots.
Charlie: And dirt on your muzzle.
Cassie: I know! Let’s lick each other clean.
Charlie: Then they won’t know who to yell at!
Cassie: Here, let me start with your pizzle.
Charlie: And, mein liebchen, your ass smells terrific.
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This AP photo from Saturday’s paper strikes me as obscene. Two war amputees with Dubya? I’m so proud of them. And so ashamed of him.
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