Injury

Some people just have to add insult to injury.

Words

So, a portcullis would be part of a barbican?

Found on the Web years ago, I thought it was clever.

Grifters

It is bad enough that he is a carpetbagger, but he is an Easterner as well.

The Grand Old Party

The Party that is all for adding insult to injury.

Pro-life

I imagine the Pro-life Party is much like Ducks Unlimited. They want lots of ducks so they can shoot them.

Yule Tide

The miracle of Christmas is making it to Easter alive. When you are a child, it is a given. When you get old enough to leave the nest, it isn’t a given anymore, often it is a taken.

The Murder House

It is not like the property managers are going to call it that.  It is just another rental unit in a small college town.  There must be thousands from sea to shining sea.  I bet there is one in every town if there is one storyteller left.  Give them an audience and the moniker will change.

                It is easy to understand why the local university wants it gone.  This one got too much attention.  They want the memory to fade.  But it is not in the interest of the local law to tear it down yet.  They have not hung the killer.  Then everybody’s memory can start to get hazy.

                It has probably been a half a century since Ted wandered through town in his VW van, and that was in the day when the college was back across the creek behind the trees from the main road.  It was hardly any different than the rest of the community.  Now the university is advertising right up by the highway: “Education in Progress!”

                I do not know if it is necessary to go to all the expense of tearing the murder house down.  They are always complaining about not enough housing to put their growing student body into.  People will have forgotten the place in a decade.

                I can wander around town and pick out the dozens of rentals of murder and suicide spots, deaths by misadventure.  The start of spree killings, the end of spree killings, the stabbing, the swan dives off of grain elevators, the trees in the arboretum where the hanged man was.  The houses of people who had their own orchard.  The jilted lover who had access to explosives.  The obsessive lover with a gun.  The fires with somebody inside.  The high school curses that followed them out of town.  The bar tiffs that followed them across the state.  People were found floating in shallow creeks and people frozen under bridges.  The workers lost in the duct work.  The dorm room suicides, the newborn babies dropped down the garbage chute.  All the new life and the still born.

                Whether the house is standing, or they build a new one, people will forget.  Maybe that is what ghosts are for, to jog the memory.  Perhaps the ghosts are memory.

That Crazy Prince

What a piece of shite is man!  How base in weaseling.  How short in sight.  In action how ruinous.  In lust how like a beast.  In perception how like a demon.  The blight on the world.  The peak of the craft.  To me, what the dung beetle rolls.  Kids in the pasture playing with cow pies.

The Rule Of Law

Too much due process allows the crimes to continue and more people die, but the same is true with too little due process. Living in the Goldilocks Zone does not seem to have rubbed off on humanity.

Two Billion Dollars

If they investigate Jared Kushner, they are going to have to start investigating themselves. They do not strike me as people who do lots of soul searching.