Parabolic Mediaholic

These days, we write in code. People streaming in silicon and copper write code in offices, in universities, in seasons of hostility and in dens of iniquity, in schools of ability and in underfunded disability. Every now and then, in living rooms of tranquility, a human being will jot a few notes in old school literary poppycock, such as this writer now does in his own living room of tranquility. . . after he fell into a hole in the ground

because some rabbit he was chasing got him destabilized and next thing you know the queen of hearts is handing you the ace of sorrow. A Republic here today is gone tomorrow. . . or something like that. But i digress. It has been said among the wise, and even among those who think they know a thing or two, that some people know what they are doing and some people havant a clue what to do or not do, but they do it anyway, Case in point: (And I found this in an ancient book.) So take it for what it’s worth. Something happ’nin here; what it is ain’t exactly. clear, as the nerdy literati and the needy donkey party get pushed aside while the elephants tromp through swamp so the bulls can romp and stomp. You see. . .there was was this nation and they were lollygagging along, singing a song of ditch-pence having a maganificent party in what used to be the Grand Ole Party and It just so happened that, as they were feasting, they drank the mash and they turned to smashing and they lauded the gods of gold, silver, silicon and foxywoxycottontail. But, but. . . suddenly the twit of a man’s hand appeared on the screens of boob and tube and Hal and Sal and every guy and gal. And the sign said the words of the profits were written on the bathroom walls, and Capitol halls, and then there were the sounds of violence. No, no; that’s not what is says. It says, uh, (squinting) it says, . . uh “many, many tickle, but they will perish when the farces are unfurled.” Say what? I mean… the times were a-changin’ but who could figure it out? I don’t know, but I been told that streets in America paved with old fairy tails. And I guess it’s true; what’s it to you? Well, uh, wait a minute; there’s someone knockin’ at the door, someone crackin’ again the Liberty bell. Do me a favor and. . . Crash! Bang! Red rover, red rover, send putin right over! Little Marco, please see what you can do to get this maga-mess straightened out. As for me and my house, I’m looking for my bomb shelter, haven’t seen it since 1963 when the hit hit the man and now I’m suffering deja-view since the sudetanland scam and chamberlain’s gamblin’ and But hey! gotta go now. . . catch the rabbit trail before the eggs are dropped and the curtain’s flopped and the deepstate weeps while the Founders leap in their graves. Watch out! Incoming! Selah and so long; been nice knowin’ ya.Thanks for the memories, Uncle Sam. You’ve be replaced with Uncle Scam. Glass half-Full