Having a blast, wish you weren’t here

Countdown to coffee. 10, 9, 8. …

Sort of a mixed message, isn’t it?

Some of us contemplate replacing our gas appliances and infernal-combustion vehicles with electrical gizmos, whizbangs, and comosellamas in order to help stave off (or at least slow down) global environmental catastrophe.

Meanwhile, in one go, a single wealthy narcissist can spray Mother Earth with a money shot of 15 million pounds of liquid methane-oxygen propellant, a jillion bits of shrapnel from an exploding 120-foot-long dick-missile, and uncounted gigatons of Texas sand, soil, and Christ only knows what … and then call it a learning experience.

I know what I’ve learned. My little electric kettle ain’t gonna git the cattle to Abilene, is what.

Smoke ’em if you got ’em

My drug of choice these days.

Ho hum. Just another morning in America.

Get up, make coffee and toast, watch E. Lawn Mulch blow something up and call it a success, start a new loaf of bread, tidy up the kitchen, police Miss Mia’s litter boxes, follow Herself to the Honda dealership to drop off the CR-V for its annual physical, write something.

It’s 4/20, but getting stoned is not on the agenda. E. Lawn may light ’em up on April 20, but not Your Humble Narrator. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.

Sheeeyit, I got higher than Starship back in 1973, man.