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Random Thoughts
The vast asphalt plain of the former used car mall is empty again; Cellular One has moved somewhere else. The place looks abandoned. Somebody forgot to turn off the automatic sprinklers, though, and the unmowed lawn is developing into a most impressive weed garden.
Old Jailhouse Trail? Out here in the middle of the woods? The old county jail was in the old courthouse, which was torn down in the 60s in the typical modernity fetish of that decade. You can tell the jail was there because of the barred windows in photos of the old place. Nobody would build a jail out here in the woods, not for any reason I can tell.
I don't know. Stranger things have happened.
Still, you never know about names around here. You'll hear some story that Camp Ne-Wa-Sha-Ho-Mo was named for some Ojibway chief, but find out it was really named using the letters from the names of the nieces and nephews of some scumbag developer back in the 1950s. Maybe this trail was named by some developer trying to manufacture some instant heritage.
Speaking of developers naming things, north of here is Paradise Lake. On the shores of Paradise Lake is a town named Carp Lake, in a township named Carp Lake, at the end of Carp Lake Road.
You know, guy, you probably aren't going to convert anybody by standing on a milk crate beside a four-lane highway, waving a Bible and screaming at people as they drive past at 50 MPH. And I don't need your help. My soul is just fine, I think; I rest secure convinced of the mercy of the gods. For one thing, I never tried to gain money or personal power by lying, screaming, ranting, condemning the innocent, claiming to be the annointed representative of a god who (if you are to believed) wants bigotry, hatred, and stupidity from his followers.
And oh, by the way, there seem to be some general misconceptions about me and my home in this town. Let me clear a few of them up:
Friends and neighbors are always welcome. But here's a clue: If you don't know whether you're my friend or neighbor, you're not.
Thanks for the opportunity, but I must decline to contribute to your dumb-ass charity. I contribute regularly to a charity which I researched well before sending them a check. If it's your charity, I'm already contributing. If not, tough rocks.
As I said before, my soul is fine. If you feel you must leave me a Book of Mormon or a few copies of Watchtower, feel free to do so. However, it would save us both some trouble if you just stuffed them into a litter barrel at the nearest public access site. I do have to PAY to have wastepaper hauled away from here, you know.
Politician? Ring the doorbell if you must. I decide who to vote for by a simple scoring system. I assign points for things that annoy me, such as junk mail, attack ads, endorsements by scumbags, unions, or single issue pressure groups, and so on. Then I vote for the candidate who has earned the fewest points. A home visit, calling me to the front door on my day off, rates a minimum 1500 points. Ring the doorbell if you want. It's your call.
No thanks, no free samples, but if you want to leave me money for buying your product that would be fine.
Thank you for your cooperation.
Old Jailhouse Trail? Out here in the middle of the woods? The old county jail was in the old courthouse, which was torn down in the 60s in the typical modernity fetish of that decade. You can tell the jail was there because of the barred windows in photos of the old place. Nobody would build a jail out here in the woods, not for any reason I can tell.
I don't know. Stranger things have happened.
Still, you never know about names around here. You'll hear some story that Camp Ne-Wa-Sha-Ho-Mo was named for some Ojibway chief, but find out it was really named using the letters from the names of the nieces and nephews of some scumbag developer back in the 1950s. Maybe this trail was named by some developer trying to manufacture some instant heritage.
Speaking of developers naming things, north of here is Paradise Lake. On the shores of Paradise Lake is a town named Carp Lake, in a township named Carp Lake, at the end of Carp Lake Road.
You know, guy, you probably aren't going to convert anybody by standing on a milk crate beside a four-lane highway, waving a Bible and screaming at people as they drive past at 50 MPH. And I don't need your help. My soul is just fine, I think; I rest secure convinced of the mercy of the gods. For one thing, I never tried to gain money or personal power by lying, screaming, ranting, condemning the innocent, claiming to be the annointed representative of a god who (if you are to believed) wants bigotry, hatred, and stupidity from his followers.
And oh, by the way, there seem to be some general misconceptions about me and my home in this town. Let me clear a few of them up:
Friends and neighbors are always welcome. But here's a clue: If you don't know whether you're my friend or neighbor, you're not.
Thanks for the opportunity, but I must decline to contribute to your dumb-ass charity. I contribute regularly to a charity which I researched well before sending them a check. If it's your charity, I'm already contributing. If not, tough rocks.
As I said before, my soul is fine. If you feel you must leave me a Book of Mormon or a few copies of Watchtower, feel free to do so. However, it would save us both some trouble if you just stuffed them into a litter barrel at the nearest public access site. I do have to PAY to have wastepaper hauled away from here, you know.
Politician? Ring the doorbell if you must. I decide who to vote for by a simple scoring system. I assign points for things that annoy me, such as junk mail, attack ads, endorsements by scumbags, unions, or single issue pressure groups, and so on. Then I vote for the candidate who has earned the fewest points. A home visit, calling me to the front door on my day off, rates a minimum 1500 points. Ring the doorbell if you want. It's your call.
No thanks, no free samples, but if you want to leave me money for buying your product that would be fine.
Thank you for your cooperation.
no subject
no subject