Foiled Again

 

The plan was elegant, compelling in its simplicity. Viz. Say Morning Prayer, walk Blue Terminator to the Pick 'n Steal, then fish and shoot. What a great plan, until it fell to pieces. Clouds rolled in, thunder boomed in a leaden sky and rain lashed down like fury. No stroll for this punter down the leafy boulevards of Olde Texas, to say nothing of fishing and shooting.

So I shook my fist at the heavens like Jonah, incensed at the wrongness of it all (You did? Ed.) How racist of this small, rural farming community to culturally appropriate Aberystwyth. It just wasn't right, so  I typed up a sermon on the Trinity, called on the flock, and drove through the floods to Brookshire's for supplies. 

Not a bad result as it turned out, and it was pleasant to see most everyone at the store had left their fear, uncertainty and submission (FUS) masks behind. Of course it's a different story in the cities, where the willing dupes of the progleft rainbow utopia cling to their precious masks like a hodler refusing to let go of DOGE$.

Speaking of which, the Shiba's been playing dead for a couple of weeks, despite rising to #6 in crypto market cap, so I bought some tasty dip to encourage the playful pup. What was it someone wicked once said, the market's a way of transferring wealth from the impatient to the patient? Something like that. 

In other news, the lesbyterian Mayor of Chicago's being sued for racism because she wouldn't allow a reporter to interview her. Why? Because the journalist was white. Lori Lightfoot's wife is white, curiously. And here's an artist's impression of one of the crew who shot UK BLM pinup Sasha in the eye.

See if you can spot the perp.

Cheers,

LSP