Gautama H. Buddha on a flying zabuton, how does someone get this fucking stupid in just one lifetime?
Best argument for reincarnation I’ve ever seen.
We are in the moist and clammy paws of the Bizarro World Buddhists, and this slobbering eejit is their Dalai Lama. His Assholiness.
Speaking of the actual DL, there is absolutely no truth to the rumor that His Holiness has declined reincarnation, saying, “If Yosemite Samsāra over there keeps coming back, I’m giving it a miss.”
When I awakened this morning not as a fleeting puff of radioactive gas but as Your Humble Narrator, I knew it was gonna be a good day.
Jesus H., etc. The Middle East has been figuring in my nightmares since, well, forever.
When I was a smaller, humbler narrator my parents taught me to read phonetically, aloud, using whatever printed material was handy. Stumbling through a report in Time magazine one day I encountered the incomprehensible “Egypt,” and after rolling it around in the gem polisher of my mind for a spell I decided it must be pronounced “Iggy-pit.”
My parents roared. I never heard the end of it. They told it to their pals over martinis. They told it to my pals, who had to endure it stone-cold sober and punished me for it afterward. They told it to my dates, who otherwise might have become actual girlfriends, which may help explain why it took so long for me to find someone to marry.
I’ve been deeply suspicious about home-schooling ever since. Later, I would come to question faith-based titles to real estate.
The Lowell George song is pretty much all I know about Tucumcari. That, and that round two of The Visitation occurs today, as another smallish herd of Texicans gallops in from there to see Herself the Elder.
Their trip looks like a stroll through the daisies compared to what Herself’s sis will endure when she jets in from Maryland midweek. Holy hell. That itinerary is why I drive any distance under 3,000 miles that does not involve an ocean crossing. A UPS driver at Christmastime makes fewer stops. Plus there are fewer psychos to duct-tape to their seats en route.
Meanwhile, the news of the world remains an ongoing refutation of both Darwinism and theology. One envisions the Son having a Word with the Father while the Holy Ghost spitballs a new PR campaign:
“I got nailed up for these people? What were You thinking? I’m going to put You in a home while HG and I try to figure out how to turn this thing around.”
Good luck with that. Me, I’d think about starting over with a fresh crop of monkeys. But judging by the state of the place, maybe that’s already occurred to You.
So I dragged the Sony RX100 and the iPhone SE out to have a digital peek.
OK, with my lefty snark in the books, how about this?
This is what we woke up to this morning — one of the most fabulous, otherworldly skies it has been my privilege to witness.
I’m just an old Zen atheist, heretic, and equal-opportunity blasphemer, but if I were of a more religious bent, I might think that somebody with some weight up there said a rosary for Mons.
And seeing as how it’s snowing now, I’d say I’m getting mine, too.
Mad Blog Media 