Enameled gadfly? Acrylic stinkbug?
What am I, an entomologist? You people tell ME what it is.
[Update : Blog Correspondent Pete Harrison just informed that this is Atteva aurea, or the Ailanthus Webworm Moth. No … I have no idea how he knows these things either.]
That awkward, recurring moment when people write “follow the money” in online political discussions, but I keep reading “follow the monkey” because I’m old and easily confused and I need new reading glasses.
I WANT it to be “follow the monkey.” That suggests a less depressing outcome than most political discussions.
We should have a National Donald J. Trump Day, in which we all lie, contradict ourselves, falsely accuse others, insult one another and ramble incoherently. We could do all of the above on Twitter, complete with the expected errors in spelling and grammar.
If anyone calls us on our bullshit, tradition wold require us to blame an educated black guy.
AND MEXICO WOULD PAY FOR IT.
Nothing can possibly go wrong.
Who came up with this invention? It’s probably equivalent to splitting the atom — complete with the potentially disastrous consequences.
How much do you want to bet that these will cause drama for me and those around me?
“Just look at the flowers.”
Hence that first picture (of a hole in the ground). I swear to you that I almost stepped in it and broke my leg. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again — you people have no idea what I go through to bring you these pictures.
What kind of burrow is that, anyway? Gopher? Wolverine? Badger? Why do I want so badly for it to be a badger burrow? Is it because badgers are cool, and I haven’t seen one yet in Virginia? Is it just the alliteration and consonance of “badger burrow?” Wouldn’t that make a great name for a roadside bar or restaurant? I’m rambling again.
Ever get a haircut and come home and take a nap? And then forget that you got a haircut that day when you awake? And then, when you walk into a dark bathroom and see your reflection in the mirror, you think it’s a short-haired intruder?
I SWEAR to you — my first thought was “Who is this #%&*ing shoe salesman?!”
Why did my half-asleep brain go right to “shoe salesman?” It probably says something about me on an unconscious level …
The White House today released an artist’s rendition of Donald Trump’s planned “Space Corps.”
Note — there are about a million “Starship Troopers” jokes to be made here. But if we go there, we’ll be at it all day.
This frequently means that when I type “I hope,” it changes it to “I hoe.” It happened in a blog post the other day.
Awkwardness ensues.
“I Hoe” kinda sounds like a pornographic satire of Asimov’s “I, Robot.”
… not to praise him.
(Facebook friends, Roanokers, countrymen … lend me some money.)
Eric Robert Nolan, Author 