Sorry. . . Sorry

O.K.  I'm not saying that all the major news outlets follow the blog, but really. . . .  I'm not going to write about it again, but it seems clear to me.  This clipping, by the way, was sent to me by someone who doesn't even know I have a blog.  My influence on the world. . . . 

As I've already reported, though, when parents of grown children were asked if they had it to do over again, would they have children, the answer was overwhelmingly, "No.  It was not worth it."

(link)

I swear, though. . . that's it.  

Because. . . you know. . . not being a parent may be just as bad.  They didn't do that study that I know of.  I mean, I'm as fit as a fucking fiddle, but I have some child free friends who are looney.  

"He just sits in his t-shirt and boxers all day watching t.v. and drinking beer.  Nobody calls, nobody goes to see him.  He has no family, just that feral cat he talks about.  It's sad, really. . . ."

On the other hand, how bad can that be?  Right?  Beats living in Haiti.  

What does it take to be mentally happy/joyful/normal?  Who is the mean from which the standard deviates?  

"He always seemed like such a nice boy.  He was quiet, you know, and was a good student.  No one would have suspected anything like that."

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

This is not what I had in mind today at all.  It wasn't planned.  I am responding to the texts my conservative friend sent me this morning, I think.  He likes to provoke me.  It gives him great pleasure until I go a bridge too far and hurt his feelings.  

"I'm signing off now.  You are being smug."

I shouldn't read texts or the newspaper before I write.  Those things often make me peptic.  All I'm saying is I am not trying to be smug or make you mad.  I think I am as hard on myself as I am on anyone.  

"Except you, you piece of shit."

O.K.  That was an Aubrey Place moment.  Goddamn, she is funny.  I've fallen under the spell.  

(link)

I know you know that you don't have to click on the links.  They are just there if you want to be as stupid as I.  But if you care to have a little peak into my noggin, you'll find pieces of the puzzle.  Most people I know will not find her funny and will tell me how stupid that or I is/am.  

No argument here.  

I think I've already driven away the populace anyway.  These are, by and large, missives to the void.  And this one is, like the photo at the top, "White Man 'Splaining."

Obviously, I need to get away from the computer and out the door for a little gentle exercise, so I'll leave you with a happy song.  I'm in a goofy mood.