We voted yesterday. An election with a couple of tax issues and local school board members on the ballot. The ballot itself had arrived in the mail only last evening.
We sat down at the table, filled in the proper circles with ballpoint pens, then put the ballots into the envelopes and mailed them off. That’s an election, Colorado-style. No sweat. No controversy. No scandal.
BTW, choosing which school board candidates to vote for was an easy one. One fellow ran unopposed, and in two of the other three slots the prospective members were women who were pretty sure that Critical Race Theory had sneaked in under the tent wall somewhere and they were agin it.
Another woman was concerned that there might be something LGBTQ+ going on already in the schools and was perfectly willing to root it out if elected. (It’s harder for LGBTQ+ issues to get as much traction in a state with a competent and thoughtful gay governor.)
The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed (and hence clamorous to be led to safety) by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary.
H.L. Mencken
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Jason Isbell had some problems with chemicals. He met someone who he was drawn to but he also knew that she would have nothing to do with an addict, so he got sober and eventually married that person. Later on he told this story in a song, and I offer you a particularly good version. The tale is not completely different from my own, although it sounds better when he tells it.
My, oh my. How sweet it is.
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I think I’ll start a charity for the Republican Party. Those poor folks have got themselves into a closet and cannot find their way out to save their souls. When the man comes to your door with the donation can in his hand, please be generous and dig deep.
Because they need professional help and that doesn’t come cheap. Costs will include mandatory class attendance in Democracy 101 at historically black Howard University. Those white boys and girls need a little leavening.
I believe I’ll call it the Congressional Republican Assistance Plan, or C.R.A.P., for short. Fits the situation pretty well.
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I had the worst nightmare last night. I dreamed that hordes of Gay Trans Black Latino Asian Native American Islamic Socialists were streaming across the border to take my job, enslave my family, and force me to do recreational drugs. Everything the Republicans have been saying all along was being proved true.
But it got worse. A troop of horse-mounted knights rode into town to save us from the invaders, led by Sainte Lauren of Boebert who was vaping like a brushfire and groping everything in pants.
I hid behind a ficus plant but was soon discovered cowering there. I could see Boebert‘s fingers reaching for me, just as I (praise God) awakened.
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Let’s finish up with a little Sunday Mornin’ spiritual by Josh White, one of the best ever at what he does.
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Little Home In The Valley 