Tuesday: 30 May 2006
(This is one of those double post days that Pablo just loves to live to die for. OK.)
Here I was, 7:17am, doing the Mrs. Wilcox thing in the (relatively) cool morning, and in my innocence ran across this marvelous tiny (1") damsel dragonfly. In my high-paying job as insect modeloid I assumed Paris would be willing to pay. I mean, I see the revival of Betty Boop here, don’t you? Probably not, you’re so much younger than I, but here she is, unidentified for all to drool over. Isn’t she a delicate beauty? And isn’t this just a shame, considering the sad tale you must endure below? (There’s more and better to come eventually too, I have some great mouthparts waiting.)
I just happened to glance toward a nearby buttonwood leaf when what should I spy but a heinous crime. At first I thought it might be a diligent trashbug - “How jolly,” I thought, and took a few photos, but when I touched it with a twig to make it scurry, it was ooey and gooey. Not only that, but doesn’t this just remind you of when Vera Miles turned the poor old mummified Mrs. Bates around in the chair at the denoument at the Bates Motel? I sure think so!
I ran to the house to dial 911, but fortunately stopped short. “Wayne!” I said, “Are you nuts?? Sure, sure, the Good Sheriff of Oglethorpe County is off getting PR photos of marijuana patch raids, but *listen*! Here you are - no one else here, no witnesses, and a corpse. What could you be thinking?”
Good point, and there’s nothing more important than photographing the evidence. In my alternative guise as a detective, I soon found the perp. “Fire Fannies,” I said, “Just as I thought.”
Now understand please - in more delicate, Victorian days, we’d have asked the women to cover their eyes. “HA!” I say, “how silly!” After all it was Bev who told me to look closer and under things and thereby undercover these heretofore undocumented horrors. *But*, if you’re faint of heart (and I know there are plenty of flighty males who won’t be able to take this), you just might want to surf somewhere else. To some “pretty picture” site.
Here’s the *real* Perp, I feel strongly, with *yet another victim*. Probably an eggmate of the former unfortunate. You know, if we just taught morals in the schools like we used to, none of this would happen. It never did then. And now, things like this go on under every leaf outside every house in America. Thank *goodness* for the NSA.
This is merely up-close documentation. You probably think I’m being exploitive. You just haven’t been in my position, and you can’t be none too careful in Oglethorpe County. I mean - does that look anything like me? C'mon. No.
And an hour later. *Look*. He’s just laughing at us. He hasn’t even tried to flee the scene. That’s what this country is coming to.
Here I was, 7:17am, doing the Mrs. Wilcox thing in the (relatively) cool morning, and in my innocence ran across this marvelous tiny (1") damsel dragonfly. In my high-paying job as insect modeloid I assumed Paris would be willing to pay. I mean, I see the revival of Betty Boop here, don’t you? Probably not, you’re so much younger than I, but here she is, unidentified for all to drool over. Isn’t she a delicate beauty? And isn’t this just a shame, considering the sad tale you must endure below? (There’s more and better to come eventually too, I have some great mouthparts waiting.)
I just happened to glance toward a nearby buttonwood leaf when what should I spy but a heinous crime. At first I thought it might be a diligent trashbug - “How jolly,” I thought, and took a few photos, but when I touched it with a twig to make it scurry, it was ooey and gooey. Not only that, but doesn’t this just remind you of when Vera Miles turned the poor old mummified Mrs. Bates around in the chair at the denoument at the Bates Motel? I sure think so!
I ran to the house to dial 911, but fortunately stopped short. “Wayne!” I said, “Are you nuts?? Sure, sure, the Good Sheriff of Oglethorpe County is off getting PR photos of marijuana patch raids, but *listen*! Here you are - no one else here, no witnesses, and a corpse. What could you be thinking?”
Good point, and there’s nothing more important than photographing the evidence. In my alternative guise as a detective, I soon found the perp. “Fire Fannies,” I said, “Just as I thought.”
Now understand please - in more delicate, Victorian days, we’d have asked the women to cover their eyes. “HA!” I say, “how silly!” After all it was Bev who told me to look closer and under things and thereby undercover these heretofore undocumented horrors. *But*, if you’re faint of heart (and I know there are plenty of flighty males who won’t be able to take this), you just might want to surf somewhere else. To some “pretty picture” site.
Here’s the *real* Perp, I feel strongly, with *yet another victim*. Probably an eggmate of the former unfortunate. You know, if we just taught morals in the schools like we used to, none of this would happen. It never did then. And now, things like this go on under every leaf outside every house in America. Thank *goodness* for the NSA.
This is merely up-close documentation. You probably think I’m being exploitive. You just haven’t been in my position, and you can’t be none too careful in Oglethorpe County. I mean - does that look anything like me? C'mon. No.
And an hour later. *Look*. He’s just laughing at us. He hasn’t even tried to flee the scene. That’s what this country is coming to.
