Tuesday, January 10, 2012


I gots nuthin' this morning, other than a feelin' o' dread.  There's nuthin' o' note from the Usual USAF Source and the Usual Source o' political cartoons and conservative screeds I never read looks pretty lame today, too.  I have just begun making the blog rounds (my lil version o' back fence gossip) and I don't see anything there... so far... that tickles my fancy or feeds the Muse.  

But I DO have a feelin' o' dread.  There was a lil "sorry we missed you" slip o' paper in the mailbox yesterday informing me that a uniformed agent o' the Federal Gub'mint had attempted to deliver a certified letter yesterday morning, with the "return receipt" box checked.  That cannot be good, NUTHIN' good ever comes by certified mail with the return receipt box checked.  NOT. A. THANG... unless some long-lost relative died and read me into their will.  I sincerely doubt that happened, but ya never know.

But... dread.  Now I have to get cleaned up and run down to the post office and then out to Cannon Airplane Patch to pick up this month's meds and more beer.  I may or may not buy some single malt, too.  Depending.


  1. >>>I may or may not buy some single malt, too. Depending.

    I'm confused. Would the booze be purchased to celebrate good news in the mail, or purchased to lubricate bad news (like an IRS audit) coming in the mail?

  2. The latter, Inno. And hush yo MOUF about an audit!

  3. Get the meds and beer first. Then you will be ready for whatever in the mail. My sister-in-law actually had some long lost relative die and leave her about 80 thousand dollars. Not such bad news!

  4. I got the letter first, Lou. But I was relieved when I saw the return addy.

  5. About the Gubmint slip of paper -- Pepper used to have a friend who refused to get a credit card, but who liked to order "male performance enhancement" pharmaceuticals from somewhere in India. So, he conned Pepper into letting him use our credit card. That meant, of course, having to give the address that corresponded to the credit card account. And that amounted to, when there was no one here to sign for the "package," having to go to the Post Office to collect it. Guess who that would've been? Yep, little ol' Moogie. Little ol' Moogie at whom, the postal clerks would giggle and titter.

    I'm glad that acquaintance faded into the sunset.


Just be polite... that's all I ask.