“I can still run in a straight line, and I can still throw a punch.” -- Pierce Brosnan
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To date, this is how the very few interactions I've had with Never Trumpers have gone, because I want to talk about the Befor...
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It wasn't a fluke. It wasn't pilot error. It wasn't instrument failure. This is what Republicans wanted, and now they have a...
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I have never, and have no plans to in the future, had a Facebook or Twitter account. I am, though, a constant presence on various blogs' comment sections where I do my best to as the kids say these days, "message". I figure that a certain argument could be made about Google, where most of those blogs are hosted, and I guess that's where I draw that line you were talking about.
Markwayne Mullin has once again caused me to thank a god I don't even believe in that I am the only member of my immediate family who wasn't born in fucking Oklahoma.
Wool? Sheep? Last I checked, slavery wasn't propped up by the harvesting of wool, and if you leave aside the fact that sheep have now been bred to produce so much wool that failing to shear them constitutes abuse, they really don't mind it. At least the ones I helped to shear when I was a kid didn't. They were in fact enthusiastic (as enthusiastic as one can expect from a sheep) about it.
My mother used to spin wool into yarn and knit things with it. This caused her friends to start gifting her sheep things. Cute little plushy sheep, throw pillows with sheep on them, little fuzzy sheep statuettes, even a tiny glass diorama with tiny glass sheep in a tiny glass pen with a tiny glass sheepdog standing guard. She kept them all in a corner of the living room opposite the fireplace. One day she realized that they were taking up more room than her actual spinning wheel and knitting supplies and she told her friends (and us) no more sheep already! If you want to give me sheep, make it in the form of some nice wool that I can spin into yarn and make things out of.
The massive resulting blob of high-grade wool was used by her to, among other things, knit me a fisherman's knit sweater that I absolutely loved. It was so warm that worn over a tee shirt and under my black leather jacket, I was just fine riding the motorcycle on the freeway at night.
Also, my sister raised a sheep for 4-H that she sold at Carl Johnson's auction yard for the down payment on the Honda Mini Trail which was the first motorcycle I ever had (it was hers also, but she lost interest in it, whereas I became a motorcycle fanatic and went on to race them for years and years).
Thank you again for the podcast. Briana is still down in Oakland working on our exit from here, but I hope she makes it back by Monday, as it is raining and the cat can't get to his litterbox and will have to go outside and get wet to do his business...
-Doug in Sugar Pine
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