Everything I read this morning was about poop. I mean it. Somehow or another, I’ve got poop all over my news feeds, and there isn’t a thing I can do about it. I am owning the poop emoticon today. Here’s
Month: August 2019
Ollie on the Bridge.
Hey. You people, you. Can’t find my Human Polly tonight. I call her Tweedle, because my name is Ollie and her’s should be Tweedle. Not Polly. We sound too much alike. It confuses me. It confuses her too. She’s always
Mapping it all out.
I like to look at maps. Not for any particular purpose. Just to look and see things that I may not have known before. Like the exact spot where Kathmandu resides. Geography seems to elude certain people. I love those
From pink sparkly to gray wrinkly.
Pickles are just a bunch of sad cucumbers, who went out for a couple of shots of vinegar one night, and came back home, completely, and utterly soused. Yes. Pickled. You can smell it on their breath, as soon as
Plain as the nose on my face.
Plain. That’s what I am. At least in the way of taste. Disclaimer. I will try anything when it comes to food. I have ordered “meat dish” in a Pub in Amsterdam, after a friend dared me. He had asked
News up to our knees.
There’s a lot going on in the world these days. The stress of things — the politics, the environment, the violence, the domestic terrorism. All of this can have the ability to topple our balance. Any of it can bump
The ups and downs, and a shot in the butt.
I tried to think about something light-hearted. But all I could come up with was Diphtheria. Yep. Diphtheria. We don’t hear much about it these day. I thought about it this morning because I was reading a little piece on
It goes again. On and on.
I don’t want to write about this again, but I can’t think of much else. Today. Here in Ohio, it happened again. Another mass shooting, this one in my hometown of Dayton, Ohio. Ten people dead, and 27 injured. It
Another day I won’t write about
I’d write about another mass murder in the United States. This one, killing 19, and injuring at least 23, in El Paso, Texas. This was not carried out by bomb or knife or sledge hammer. Nope. Once again, these people
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
Here’s a free thought. Today is Frédéric-Auguste Bartholdi’s birthday. Born in Colmar, France on August 2, 1834. It was a Saturday, just for the record. When he was 44 years old, he designed the Statue of Liberty to mark the